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V. 


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1 . 




KATE COMERFORD; 


OR, 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

i88i. 




Copyright, 1880, by J. B. Lippincott & Co. 


KATE COMERFORD; 

OR, 

SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


PART FIRST. 

ON THE LOWER RIO GRANDE. 


CHAPTER 1. 

As a beginning, here is a letter from the wife of 
Captain George Ashbur, of the United States Army, 
to her sister, resident in New York : 

“ Knocktin Barracks, Texas, 

“ September 3, 185-. 

“ My Dear Edith : 

“ Now that the bustle and confus’ion incident to 
the unpacking and arranging of our few worldly 
possessions in the new home are over, and we are at 
last fairly settled at this post, I shall fulfil my prom- 
ise of letting you know something of our garrison 
life and surroundings in this far-away country. 

**The situation of Knocktin Barracks, on the 

3 


KATE COMERFORD; ORy 


4 

Lower Rio Grande, is remarkably picturesque. The 
country on the Texan side for many miles up and 
down the river, and stretching back toward the 
north, is covered with what may more correctly be 
termed an orchard than a forest of musquite-trees, 
having a plentiful undergrowth of every variety of 
cactus. The musquite closely resembles the peach- 
tree in form and size; the foliage, of the lightest 
shade of green, grows in regular sprays like that of 
the black locust, but with smaller and more delicate 
leaves. 

“ No tulip-garden can equal in variety and splen- 
dor the flowers of the cactus. We see the tall and 
slender stick cactus, from four to six feet in height, 
with stems no larger than your finger, and bearing 
on top long clusters of bright-red blossoms not un- 
like those of the cypress-vine. Then there are 
Turks’-heads, ever so much larger than life, if not 
quite so natural, and also the well-named snake- 
cactus. Perhaps the largest and richest of all is the 
prickly pear with its tulip-shaped flowers, — orange, 
lemon, brown, straw-colored, and variegated. For- 
get the little stunted specimens we have at home, and 
figure to yourself, as the French say, plants six or 
eight feet tall, with leaves the size of a large dinner- 
plate and about an inch in thickness. Indeed, there 
seems no end to the ramifications of the cacti 
family. I notice that the plants of this region are 
almost invariably furnished with thorns or nettles, 
doubtless for protection from the goats and burros ; 
otherwise, in the total absence of grass, there might 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


5 

be no green thing left upon the face of the earth. 
And, now that I come to think of it, the armor of 
the gentle armadillo, which has its home in this re- 
gion of chaparral, must have been bestowed upon 
him as a shield from the thorns that beset his path- 
way in life. 

“Just here, my dear Edith, I am tempted to in- 
dulge in some moral reflections, instituting a com- 
parison between the armadillo and mankind. But I 
spare you, and shall instead try to give you some 
idea of Knocktin Barracks and the present inhabi- 
tants thereof. 

“ On a steep hill is perched the white house of the 
commanding officer, — a one-story frame building, 
surrounded by a wide veranda, and having so many 
windows and doors that I always have the impres- 
sion of being in a pilot-house as I view the winding 
river from that altitude. This house stands farther 
back from the river than the other quarters, and from 
the south side veranda you look down upon the 
parade-ground and the quarters of the other officers, 
— eight sets in all, four on either side the parade. 
The soldiers* quarters are still nearer the river-bank. 

“ Our houses are comfortable, — one-story wooden 
buildings with green shutters and wide porches. On 
the east of the parade-ground, — that is, to your 
left as you look down from the commanding officer’s 
hill, — in the first set of quarters reside Captain Duval 
and family; in the adjoining set. Major Silvers and 
wife. The next set is occupied by bachelor officers, 
— Lieutenants Waters and Volney. 


6 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


“ These young men, unlike as possible in person 
and character, are inseparable. One always sees 
them arm-in-arm when off duty. The pair remind 
me of a large good-natured mastiff and an Italian 
greyhound. Jack Waters is a sorrel-headed Ken- 
tucky giant, with large, coarse features, quiet in 
manner, and rather sluggish in intellect; his gait 
retains as much of the Kentucky swing as is con- 
sistent with military training. 

“ Lieutenant Paul Volney, though tall, is half a 
head below Waters. He has a remarkably long 
neck, small head and sloping shoulders, regular fea- 
tures, brown hair, and large bright eyes ; is very 
quick in all his movements, enthusiastic and affec- 
tionate in disposition, and boyish in manner. Each 
of us married ladies has a kind of elder-sisterly feel- 
ing for him. 

“ The fourth and last set on that side of the garri- 
son Captain Rubenstein, of the artillery, occupies all 
to himself. He is a dapper little blonde widower, 
with a long, straight moustache ; always looks as if 
he had just stepped out of a band-box. 

“ Now, fortunately for me, in the choosing of 
quarters, which is always done according to rank, 
Mrs. Silvers and Mrs. Duval preferred the gayer side 
of the garrison, — that is, the one in full view of the 
parade. And Captain Rubenstein, who also ranks 
my husband, waived his right of choice in our favor. 
Thus we have what I consider the most desirable set 
in Knocktin Barracks. 

“ Because our house faces the east, and is quite out 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


7 

of sight of the parade, consequently I may sit en 
deshabille on our front porch with the children with- 
out being in full view of all the world and the rest 
of mankind (as our dear old General Taylor once 
remarked), and I can keep Master Clay, now five 
years old, out of the broiling sun, which would be a 
difficult matter were the soldiers always in sight. 

“ But I must explain that we owe our sheltered 
position to the fact that there stands, a little in ad- 
vance of and to the west of the hill of the command- 
ing officer, a second hill, set there by Mother Nature 
for the express purpose of upholding the Star-Span- 
gled Banner, for this is the hill of the flag-staff. 
And I am the old woman who lives under the hill. 

“ So if you were coming to see me from the other 
side of the barracks, you must, after crossing the 
parade-ground, skirt around the foot of the flag-staff 
hill until you reach its western side ; here, passing 
through a low white gate, you find yourself — well, 
the extent of our grounds would hardly permit you 
to lose yourself — in a small sandy yard, the path to 
the porch fringed by several varieties of the irrepres- 
sible cactus. Here and there you observe a cluster 
of mammoth Palma Christi plants, with their red- 
veined umbrella-like leaves. This plant is perennial 
here, not an annual, as in the North, and is our 
shrubbery y and not cultivated for medical purposes, as 
you might suppose. 

“ The wide porch is shaded by ivy and Madeira- 
vines, both indigenous here. From this shady porch 
you step into our sitting-room. Do not fancy, be- 


8 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


cause you observe the two windows opening on the 
porch guiltless of sash, that Uncle Sam has denied 
us the luxury of window-glass. 

“The sash is carefully stowed away, not to be 
brought out for use until the coming of winter, — if 
indeed the short season of cool weather about Christ- 
mas may be dignified by the name of winter. 

“The wide and low-roofed porches protect from 
rain, and we need every breath of air that can be 
coaxed to enter, for the climate is decidedly warm. 
The nights, however, are usually cool with a pleasant 
breeze. And, what with rising early to enjoy the 
cool of the morning, keeping as quiet as mice, with 
closed shutters and flowing garments, at mid-day, 
taking a refreshing bath before dinner (we lunch at 
one and dine at five), and after dinner indulging in a 
stroll through the garrison or a climb to the seats 
around the flag-staff, from whence we have a lovely 
view of the winding river and of the pale, tender 
green of the musquite forest, and also of such glori- 
ous sunsets as are simply indescribable, — what with 
all these mitigating circumstances and precautions, 
together with agreeable society, we manage to pass 
the time very pleasantly. 

“ The floor of our sitting-room is covered with a 
straw matting in green and white checks, a present 
from a Cuban friend. On the south side of the room 
is a small open fireplace, at present filled with the 
branches of the ebony and musquite trees in contrast- 
ing shades. The mantelpiece is decorated by the 
pair of flat brass candlesticks given me by mother 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


9 

(do you remember how you and I drew straws to 
decide which should have them ?), and which Aunt 
Phebe, our cook, keeps as bright as gold ; they are 
tipped up against the wall that none of their beauty 
may be lost to the eye. The mantel is further em- 
bellished by a birch-bark porcupine-quill-embroidered 
cigar-case and a few large shells of ocean ; nor must 
I forget to mention Master Clay’s new drum, which 
treasure he insists is not safe from baby George’s 
teeth and chubby fists anywhere else. 

“Above the mantel hangs a large steel engraving 
of ‘ Our Saviour Blessing Little Children.’ 

“ And on the opposite wall, near the window open- 
ing to the north, at which I now sit writing, you will 
observe another picture. This was Henry Clay’s 
Christmas gift from Aunt Phebe, and, as they both 
think it a wonderful work of art and a great honor 
to our poor sitting-room, I have not the heart to un- 
deceive them or banish it to a less conspicuous sta- 
tion. A very pink Moses, with yellow eyes and bluish 
hair, is kicking up his heels in a rather modern clothes- 
basket ; while Pharaoh’s daughter — in a golden 
crown and five bracelets on each arm, and wearing a 
blue tunic, yellow bodice, and a scarlet train which 
floats gracefully on the deep blue water of the river 
— is leaning over the pink boy with a painful 
Grecian bend. 

“ On either side the fireplace, built into the wall, 
is a combination of cupboard, bookcase, and ward- 
robe, and I may add pantry, as I have no other place 
for keeping preserves and pickles. My work-stand 


10 


JiTATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


and George’s writing-table, holding a few books and 
papers, several large camp-chairs covered with buff 
chintz, and a comfortable lounge, over which is thrown 
a bright Mexican blanket, complete the furniture of 
this room. 

“ Back of the sitting-room is our bed-room, look- 
ing comfortably cool in its carpet of white matting. 
Be careful not to stumble over the baby and his nurse 
(both asleep on the floor) as you pass through this 
room to a wide back porch, generally used as our 
dining-room. From this porch an open passage 
leads to the kitchen. And thus you have the sum- 
total of our accommodation, if we except the sort of 
basement-room under the kitchen, — an above-ground 
basement it is, our house being built on a hill-side. 
This we call our hen-house, though the rats seem to 
enjoy a prior claim, and even appear inclined to dis- 
pute with us the right to the upper rooms, to judge 
from the nightly reconnoitering parties we hear trip- 
ping up the steps of the back porch. Their patter- 
ing footsteps form not quite so pleasant a lullaby as 
the rain upon the roof. 

“ There are only five ladies here at present. On 
the opposite side of the garrison Mrs. Silvers and 
Mrs. Duval are next-door neighbors, as I have already 
mentioned ; on this side Mrs. Francisco’s quarters 
adjoin ours on the south. Indeed, our front porch is 
in common, the houses all being double ones. 

Major Silvers’s wife is the only lady here past 
middle age ; she claims to be near fifty, but her cheer- 
ful flow of spirits makes her the life of our little 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


II 


circle. She is the jolliest little soul, fat and hand- 
some, usually clad in bright colors, and always wear- 
ing a white turban-shaped cap of some thin material, 
from under which peep out a number of short jet- 
black curls, giving a piquantCy laughing expression to 
her large black eyes. 

“ Mrs. Silvers says she has to matronize the rest of 
us, we are such a light-headed set. It really so happens 
that hers is the only dark hair among us. 

“ Mrs. Duval is such a complete contrast to Mrs. 
Silvers that it is laughable to see them together. The 
former is tall, slender, and lackadaisical, a perfect 
bundle of affectations. She never uses a plain, 
short word if it be possible to introduce a stilted one, 
imagines herself some sentimental heroine, and can 
surpass Sir Piercie Shafton in euphuisms. George 
can scarcely keep his countenance when she is talk- 
ing, and we often wonder that Captain Duval is not 
ashamed of her nonsense; but so far from it, he 
thinks her perfection, I truly believe. All the sense 
she possesses has run into her finger-ends, for such 
music as she gives us is seldom heard among ama- 
teurs. And in singing (her voice is both sweet and 
powerful) all affectation is laid aside. This rare mu- 
sical talent renders Mrs. Duval a valuable acquisition 
to our society. Hers is the only piano in the barracks ; 
the rest of us have either had ours jolted to pieces in 
our constant wanderings, or have found the transpor- 
tation more than our slim purses could bear. 

“Lieutenant Francisco is my husband’s most inti- 
mate friend, and I have formed a strong attachment 


12 


JiTATE COMERFORD; OR, 


for his wife. Mrs. Francisco is more lovely in her 
generous disposition than in person, her gentle brown 
eyes being her only good feature. She is in feeble 
health, and it is feared that little Winny, their only 
child, will not long have a mother’s care. Winny is 
a year younger than my boy Clay, and almost as 
dear to me as my own children. 

For a picture of Mrs. George Ashbur I refer you to 
memory. George says I am quite as good-looking 
as ever, and not much older, though I am now the 
dignified mother of two boys. 

“ But what shall I say of bewitching Kate Comer- 
ford, the daughter of our commanding officer ? Such 
a perfect beauty she is that it is a thousand pities she 
should be here without a mother to keep her out of 
mischief 

“ Kate is barely sixteen, and with her flaxen hair 
and blue eyes looks younger still ; yet every young 
officer here is heels-over-head in love with her, and 
her curly head is in a fair way of being turned by 
their nonsense before her father sends her back to 
school ; she is only spending her vacation with 
him. 

“ Even Dr. McBriar, our surgeon (he lives on our 
side the garrison), a crusty old bachelor, has allowed 
his affections for his botanical specimens and pre- 
served monstrosities to be distracted by her charms, 
and his heart to stray in that direction. 

“ You must take into consideration that our officers 
on the frontier, poor fellows! do not see a young lady 
from one year’s end to another, so that even a girl of 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


13 

very moderate beauty and intellect would reign as a 
belle in a garrison. 

“ Though Miss Comerford is no relation of mine, 
we feel cousinish, because she is own cousin to our 
scapegrace nephew, Tom Heron. Tom, for some 
of his wild pranks at West Point, was rusticated last 
year, so his friends got him a situation in the sutler’s 
store at this post, — only for a season, however, for he 
is determined to graduate yet. But I tell him he 
will never be tall enough to keep his sword from 
dangling and looking like an urchin on a stick-horse. 
Still, as he is but nineteen he may yet reach a respect- 
able stature. 

“ His hair is almost as light as Kate’s, and they are 
enough alike to pass for twins. Tom often says he 
would die happy if he could ever hope to own such 
a beard as ' Uncle George’ has. The idea of a heavy, 
jet-black beard on Tom’s innocent-looking face is 
ridiculous enough, for, as old Phebe says, ‘ Mas’ Tom 
looks so meek, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.’ 

“ I shall be delighted when this nephew of mine 
returns to West Point, for, with his talent for mim- 
icry and his love of practical jokes, he is the torment 
of my life. 

“ To-morrow is Miss Kate’s sixteenth birthday, 
which is to be celebrated by an excursion to the 
hacienda of Don Santiago Mendoza, about five miles 
from the barracks. 

'‘Among others. Miss Comerford has made a con- 
quest of a Mexican officer stationed at the military 
post on the other side of the Rio Grande, and he has 


14 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


asked permission of her father to be allowed the 
honor of presenting her some trifle as a birthday 
gift. Our officers have followed suit in making the 
same request, though it is probable that, except for 
the very proper example set them by the foreign 
officer, it would never have entered their heads to 
think the colonel’s permission at all necessary. As 
Colonel Comerford has limited her acceptance to 
articles of small value, and Miss Kate is known to 
be very fond of pets, George says the men are rack- 
ing their brains and roaming the forests (!) to find 
something to please the fair lady and eclipse each 
other. 

“ But here comes Tom, whistling so loud that he 
has waked the baby, so I hasten to sign myself 
“ Your affectionate sister, 
“Agnes R. Ashbur.” 

As Tom Heron enters and runs through to the 
bed-room to snatch up the screaming baby, while the 
sleepy black nurse is rubbing her eyes, we shall step 
forward and take up the story which Mrs. Ashbur 
has dropped. 

Mrs. Agnes Ashbur is a lady of medium height, 
with very light brown hair and blue eyes. These 
blue eyes, though not at all sleepy-looking in expres- 
sion, have yet a half-shut appearance, from the ex- 
treme fulness of the upper lids. Her mouth is wide ^ 
and has a slightly sarcastic curl of the lip, and she 
has the self-possessed air of one much used to 
society. 


SKETCHES OF GAREISON LIFE. 

“ Aunt Aggy,” cried Tom, tossing the baby into 
its mother’s lap, “ McBriar is ahead in the race. I 
thought Volney’s gift would please Kate, especially 
as she is rather partial to Mr. Paul already; it is 

such a ’cute little I’d nearly let the cat out of 

the bag ! But the doctor’s bangs the Jews, and 
takes the rag off the bush. Won’t Kate stare ! Oh 
my !” 

What is it ?” 

“ It is a Oh-no-I-never-mention-it. I’m sworn 

to secrecy.” 

“ Tell me the color, the size.” 

“ The color is orange ; size not less than a hun- 
dred feet.” 

” Oh, pshaw !” said Tom’s aunt. 

No, not a cushaw, nor yet Cinderella’s pumpkin. 
But here comes Kate herself, with Winny on one 
arm and leading Clay, much against his will, it 
seems.” 

Mrs. Ashbur,” exclaimed the young lady, as 
soon as she could recover her breath after putting 
Winny on her feet and emptying a dozen oranges 
from her own apron, “ if you do not keep a better 
watch over this boy of yours, he will be the death of 
little Winny yet. I found them at the foot of our 
hill. Clay mounted on Mrs. Silvers’s goat, poor 
Nanny’s horns decorated with a couple of oranges, 
and Winny actually tied by her sash to the tail of 
the goat, while around on the ground were scattered 
nearly a bushel of oranges. Clay announced him- 
self as Alexander on Bucephalus, and Winny as the 


1 6 JiTATE COMERFORD ; OR, 

captive of his spear. The oranges, I suppose, repre- 
sented the worlds he had conquered.” 

“ No, they didn’t, neither !” said the captured con- 
queror. “ We had been playing snow-ball with 
them before I was turned into Alexander.” 

“ Clay,” said his mother, ” what do you mean by 
wearing your father’s epaulette on your head and 
dragging his sword about in the dust ? Here, Cindy,” 
to the nurse, “ take this young pig and give him a 
bath.” 

“ See what mischief you have done. Cousin Kate,” 
said Tom. “You have demolished the constel- 
lation Capricornus, and Aquarius is now in the as- 
cendant.” 

“ But the worst of it is this wicked waste of 
oranges ; you don’t seem to think of that, Mrs. Ash- 
bur. I never had as many as I could eat in my life 
until I came to Texas.” 

“ You may have as many as you can shake a stick 
at here, — a bushel for fifty cents. Indeed, it is the 
only fruit we have except figs ; not half so good as 
apples, which we cannot get fgr love or money,” said 
Tom. 

“ We would gladly exchange oranges for apples, 
for they can be made into neither pies, puddings, nor 
dumplings,” said Mrs. Ashbur, “ and I am often at 
my wits’ end to get up something for a dessert. Re- 
main here, Kate, until I take Winny home ; and if 
the milk-man comes, don’t let him give you goat’s 
milk.” 

Not long after Mrs. Ashbur had left, a Mexican, 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


17 

carrying a tall earthenware jar on his head and an- 
other on his right arm, came to the door. 

*^Senom ! Qiiiere V. leche de cabra 6 leche de vaca 
said he. 

“ Which is which, Tom ?” asked Miss Comerford, 
at a loss. 

“ I don’t know, but I’ll find out. Muchacho (that 
is Spanish for boy), is this,” touching the jar on the 
man’s head, “ mo-00 leche or ba-aa leche T' 

“ Quien sabe exclaimed the astonished Mex- 
ican. 

” I take leche de cabral' said Kate, laughing ; ^‘that 
sounds most like cow’s milk.” 

But Mrs. Ashbur on her return pronounced it 
goat’s milk, and to Miss Comerford’s question of 
why it would not answer as well said that if boiled 
when quite fresh it would do for coffee, but after 
standing a while it became strong and the taste was 
not agreeable. 

“ Agreeable ! that is putting it mildly,” said Tom. 
“ Do you remember the delicious custard you once 
made of it. Aunt Aggy ? It tasted something as old 
boots and mice smell, Kate. Whew ! after one 
mouthful of that delicacy Uncle George and I had to 
retire hastily from the table — to meditate.” 


b 


2* 


i8 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


CHAPTER IL 

On the morrow the party for Don Santiago’s ha- 
cienda got off in good time. Volney managed to 
secure a seat by Miss Comerford in the small ambjj- 
lance, in which Mrs. Ashbur and young Heron occu- 
pied the front seat, Tom driving. 

“ Now, Cousin Kate,” began that young gentleman, 
“you admire Mexican fashions so much, their bows 
and hand-kissings, and all that, what style of driving 
will you have to-day, American or Mexican ?” 

“ Well, as nothing could be worse than your usual 
style of handling the reins, I choose the Mexican.” 

They were at the top of a pretty steep hill. Tom 
called to two soldiers on horseback who formed part 
of the escort : “ Jump off and hold back these mules 
until I cry let go T 

Away rattled the ambulance, the speed of the mules 
checked by the two soldiers running at their sides and 
swinging on to their bridles for dear life. “ Let go !” 
yelled the driver when half-way down; and down 
flew mules and wagon with such an impetus as 
served to take them half-way up the next hill. 

Kate screamed and fell forward on Heron’s shoul- 
ders. Lieutenant Volney laughed and rescued her. 
Mrs. Ashbur darted forward as if minded to take a 
seat on one of the mules, but as the upward motion 
began fell back with some emphasis into her neph- 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


19 


ew’s lap. She insisted that the American manner of 
driving should be adopted, and that no Mexican in 
his senses ever drove in that way. 

But Volney supported Heron in his assertion that 
this was their exact style of driving down hill [and 
this is a fact]. 

So they kept on over all that very hilly road, Tom 
declaring he was no good at translating Spanish into 
English, and must continue to drive in pure Castilian. 
Mrs. Ashbur said she should be satisfied if they were 
not translated into a better world before their jour- 
ney’s end. Tom and Kate liked the fun, and Volney 
was only too happy to have his joints dislocated in 
such pleasant company. 

Dr. McBriar, Captain Rubenstein, and Lieutenant 
Hawthorn, who kept pace with the ambulances on 
horseback, were consumed with envy and jealousy at 
Volney ’s good luck. 

In the second and larger ambulance, following at a 
more reasonable pace, were seated Mrs. Silvers, Mrs. 
Duval, Captain Ashbur, and Lieutenants Francisco 
and Waters, the latter driving. 

On the way the flowers looked so tempting that 
Miss Comerford expressed a desire for a Texas tulip 
(cactus-blossom). 

The three gentlemen on horseback immediately 
dismounted, intent on securing for the fair lady of 
their three hearts one of the thorn-beset blossoms, 
while the two ambulances halted to watch progress 
and to give advice. 

Ah, Mr. Waters,” sighed Mrs. Duval in her die- 


20 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


away voice, “ I should be inexpressibly delighted to 
secure one of those magnificent ferns, — the maiden’s 
hair, is it not ?” 

“Will not this snake-cactus do as well, Mrs. Du- 
val ?’’ asked Heron, striking at one with his whip- 
lash. “ This is probably a stray tress of Medusa’s 
hair. How will that answer for your infernery ?’’ 

“ You will long for a glance from Medusa to petrify 
you into insensibility if you touch it,’’ exclaimed Ru- 
benstein, stamping, and blowing on his fingers, which 
were smarting from the sting of the nettles, that 
render the gathering of these flowers a feat only pos- 
sible to the initiated. 

Dr. McBriar had, meanwhile, pierced the calyx of 
the blossom with a pointed stick, which he desired 
Hawthorn to hold while he deftly proceeded by first 
trimming off the thorns with his penknife and then 
cutting the flower from its parent leaf, for there is no 
stem. 

He was in the act of presenting it to Miss Comer- 
ford with his blandest grin, when, chancing to step 
on the long piece of snake-cactus cut off by Tom’s 
whip, the other end flew up against his knee. His 
summer trousers formed no protection from the net- 
tles, and the stinging pain caused him to drop the 
hardly-won blossom. In a moment Hawthorn 
snatched and presented the prize. 

“ If that is not a cool piece of impudence, I am no 
judge of the article!’’ said the discomfited surgeon. 

But Miss Comerford’s thanks and condolences 
soon restored his good humor. 


SKETCHES OF GAFF ISON LIFE. 


21 


Another mile brought them to the mansion of 
Sehor Mendoza ; but before reaching the house they 
passed, at the foot of the hill on which stood the 
casa grande, the huts of the peones, or laborers, on 
the estate. These huts, which stood in compact 
rows on either side the road, might be designated 
as vertical log cabins, — that is, the small logs 
of which the walls were built stood upright instead 
of being laid horizontally. The roofs, not over 
eight or ten feet from the ground, were nearly 
flat, and formed of a thatch of twigs and mortar, 
the floors, also of mortar well pounded, being liter- 
ally ground floors. The open doors served for win- 
dows as well, the latter being dispensed with, as 
were also chimneys. The little cooking necessary 
for these frugal people was done in bake-ovens 
built outside. 

The women were seen seated on the floor, some 
sewing, and others engaged in the interesting pastime 
of pursuing Goldsmith’s animated nature amid the 
black thatch on the heads of their bronze-colored 
ninos. In this region this branch of entomology is 
studied without disguise. 

The cottages, though almost destitute of furniture, 
usually boasted of a neat and tasty bed ornamented 
by a pyramid of pillows, the first a long narrow one, 
then shorter and shorter, until the top one was only 
fit for the head of a baby, the cases handsomely 
wrought in open stitch. 

The outer walls of the cabins were gayly festooned 
with strings of red pepper, and some of the roofs of 


22 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


these peasant dwellings were covered with the fra- 
grant onion. 

Swarms of handsome bronze muchachitos (little 
boys), quite innocent of drapery, scampered around 
amid the kids and chickens. 

The casa of Don Santiago, a large flat-roofed 
building of adobes, had no enclosed yard in front, no 
grass-plot, nothing but sand, in which stood a few 
giant Spanish bayonets and maguey-plants like senti- 
nels each side of the wide carriage door-way, which 
formed the front entrance and led to the inner court. 

Passing through this carriage-house, or entresol, 
our party entered the court, where they were hospita- 
bly welcomed by the ladies and children of the fam- 
ily, with low courtesies to the gentlemen and the 
most graceful of embraces for the ladies. 

While the 7nuchachos are taking the horses and 
mules around to the corral, we may take a view of 
the inner court, into which all the doors of the house 
open. In one corner stood a gnarled old fig-tree ; 
in the centre an evergreen called the sauco (or elder- 
tree), having rich dark foliage and clusters of white 
blossoms like our elder-bush. There were also, here 
and there, elevated flower-beds, standing over three 
feet above the level of the yard, in which bloomed 
many familiar garden-flowers, and others which were 
unknown to our Americans of the North, as the 
Mexicans term people of the United States. One 
flower, resembling the single pink, was remarkable 
for its peculiar fragrance, somewhat like cologne; 
these were called tortones. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


23 

The brick walls of these flower-tables were hung 
with Madeira and other vines, and the flowers were 
out of reach of the chickens and dogs, both quite at 
home in the court. 

Turning to the left after entering the court, the first 
door led into the sala grande, an immense, long 
room, around which ran a cushioned seat, formed, 
indeed, by a projection of the wall itself. The walls 
were whitewashed, and, in lieu of tapestry, a width 
of buff calico had been tacked thereon, running 
around the room above the stationary divan, and 
serving as a more becoming background than the * 
white wall itself for the heads of the senoritas as they 
rested from the fatigue of the dance. 

The ceiling was very high, the house having but 
one story, and formed of a species of cane or bamboo 
work in fanciful patterns. The walls, over three feet 
in thickness, effectually excluded all heat, and the 
sudden change from the glaring sunlight was most 
refreshing. 

Passing through the sala grande, the guests were 
ushered into a small apartment, where the ladies laid 
off their bonnets, and immediately chocolate, served 
in tiny cups, was presented to the visitors. 

“ How vastly superior is this inimitable chocolate 
to ours !” exclaimed Mrs. Duval. “ If we only pos- 
sessed a sufficiently comprehensive knowledge of 
the Spanish language to communicate efficiently 
with the senoritas, I should desire to make some in- 
quiries into the culinary process necessary to pro- 
duce a beverage so exquisitely grateful to the taste.’' 


24 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


“ Mr. Hawthorn is our interpreter,” said Mrs. Sil- 
vers. “ Mr. Hawthorn, step here if you please; Mrs. 
Duval wants to know how to make chocolate.” Then, 
in a lower tone, ” I will translate her into plain Eng- 
lish, and you can then put it into a Spanish dress.” 

Mr. Hawthorn, in better Spanish than is usually 
heard on the frontier, made the speech of the ladies 
mutually intelligible, and the sehora was delighted 
to furnish the recipe, and she also insisted that her 
guests should take home with them some cakes of 
the chocolate. The Mexican chocolate differs from 
the French in having almonds and spices, as well as 
sugar, mixed with the ground cacao-bean. 

Don Santiago Mendoza was absent, the senoritas 
regretted to say, on a trip to the city of Zacatecas, in 
Mexico, from whence he procured his annual supply 
of groceries and dry-goods for his store” ; for each 
proprietor of a hacienda is also a merchant to the ex- 
tent of furnishing his peones with all they need. But 
the eldest son of the house, Pedro Antonio, and his 
brother Juan, lively, dark lads of ten and twelve, 
assumed their father’s place as host with much dig- 
nity. 

Senora Mendoza and her grown daughters, Ber- 
nancia and Dolores, were very dark of complexion, 
with good figures, but not at all handsome. The 
younger children, about a dozen in number, were all 
pretty. 

Miss Comerford began playing with the baby, and, 
being instructed by Hawthorn, said, Como se llama 
V f What is your name ?”] 


SKETCHES OF GAFF IS OH LIFE. 


25 

“ Conchita^ bonita sefiora*' responded the nina^ 
greatly to the surprise of all. 

“ Is it possible so young a child can speak ?” cried 
Mrs. Ashbur. “ Why, it cannot be over seven or 
eight months old.” 

On hearing the interpretation the mother replied 
that the nina had but seven months, but the child 
was not unusually forward in speaking.” The Span- 
ish tongue is so melodious and easy of pronuncia- 
tion that it does not take a Mexican baby a whole 
year (as is the case with ours) to make up its mind 
to attack the difficulties of its native speech. 

To reach the dining-room, which was on the side 
of the court, at right angles with the sala grande^ the 
company must again cross the court-yard. On en- 
tering the comedor, or salle-a-mangeVy before taking 
seats at the long table, each member of the family, to 
the smallest child, made the sign of the cross, while 
the mother asked a blessing. Then, while musicians 
under the windows made music, monotonous but 
sweet, on the small Mexican harps, the hungry 
guests, served by three or four muchachos^ proceeded 
to dispatch the bountiful meal. 

After soup they partook of kid roasted whole, 
chicken stewed in rice, broiled squabs, and the cele- 
brated national dish olla podrida. This dish is so 
unique as to merit a description : In the middle of a 
large, flat dish a good-sized piece of boiled beef re- 
posed, surrounded — as a continent by its adjacent 
islands, but minus the sea of gravy — by a few whole 
onions, a few apples, as many tomatoes and figs, all 
B 3 


26 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


boiled whole, and a cabbage-head cut into quarters. 
In serving, a slice of the continent and a small piece 
of each island was allotted to each guest. And very 
good, too, is the olla podrida, as we can testify. 

Observing the Mexican ladies eating green chile 
(red pepper cooked in its green stage), Mrs. Duval, 
desirous of becoming au fait in all the customs of 
the country, took a good mouthful, and was affected 
to tears. 

‘‘ If this is chilly,” remarked Lieutenant Waters, 
under his breath, — for he had been trying the same 
experiment, — “ what may be called hot in this coun- 
try ?” 

“ You will probably be considered a Hottentot, Mr. 
Waters, if you perforate that beautifully wrought 
napkin with your teeth while cooling your mouth,” 
said Mrs. Ashbur, who sat next hifn. 

Both table-cloth and napkins were of the finest 
linen, bordered with delicate needle-work in hem-- 
stitch. 

Excellent port wine appeared with the dessert, also 
baskets of fresh figs and oranges. One very palata- 
ble dish was of mince-meat, seasoned as we have it 
for mince-pies, with the addition of almonds; in 
place of pastry a spoonful of the mince-meat is twisted 
up in the white inner husks of corn and fried in lard ; 
the little bundles look, for all the world, like those 
fancy bon-bons that go off with a pop when you pull 
them. 

After dinner, coffee and cigaritas were handed to 
ladies as well as gentlemen. No sefiorita is ever 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


27 

without her cigarita-case. The one used by Sehora 
Mendoza was of pure gold, very like a card-case in 
form, and exquisitely wrought ; it had been brought 
from the city of Mexico. 

Hawthorn and McBriar paid many compliments 
to the young ladies, and their brother-officers vowed 
to learn the language in self-defence, as they felt cer- 
tain that all of their eloquent speeches came to grief 
in the translation. 

With many hopes of another visit, invitations to 
Knocktin Barracks, cordial embraces, and adioses, the 
Knocktin party were at length en route homeward. 

After much persuasion, young Heron, insisting that 
he had promised the colonel to keep an eye on 
Cousin Kate, was induced to yield his seat to Captain 
Rubenstein. 

“ Nonsense, Tom ! Am I not here to matronize 
Kate ?” said his aunt. 

Yes, but who is to patronize Volney ? Be care- 
ful of your shoulders, sir,” to Rubenstein as that 
spry little gentleman lightly sprang into the wagon 
and took the reins ; “ my cousin does not hold back 
well going down hill.” 

” Waters,” said Hawthorn, riding alongside the 
other ambulance, “ don’t you think Rubenstein, hav- 
ing had his day, should be satisfied to look on and 
let us bachelors have a chance now ?” 

“ Certainly ; but as for me, Volney has stolen a 
march on me by making me his confidant. He is 
desperately in earnest.” 

“So you, being Damon to his Pythias, cannot in- 


28 


JiTATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


terfere,” remarked Captain Ashbur. “ However, you 
may console yourself; not a ghost of a chance would 
you stand, or Volney either, for that matter. The 
colonel vows that no daughter of his shall ever 
marry into the army. You know he attributes the 
early death of Miss Kate’s mother to the hardships 
of frontier life.” 

“Captain Rubenstein is aware of this prejudice,” 
said Mrs. Silvers, “ and has adroitly informed me, in 
presence of Colonel Comerford, that he should in a 
few years retire from the service, having a very com- 
fortable fortune independent of his pay.” 

“ Cousin Kate would not have him,” cried Heron, 
who had approached, seated on the horse of the gen- 
tleman they were canvassing. “ She says he is too 
small and frisky, and his long moustaches give him 
the appearance of a walrus. If Kate can’t have the 
first fruits of the heart, she is not the girl to put up 
with the second crop. Which means her wedding- 
cake must be made of the white flour of the affec- 
tions, not of the seconds.” 

“ Hold your tongue, Tom I Your mixed metaphors 
put my teeth on edge. Three or four years hence 
will be time enough to think of wedding-cake for 
Miss Comerford. I should think,” continued Mrs. 
Silvers, as Lieutenant Hawthorn rode on to overtake 
the other ambulance, “ that Mr. Hawthorn stood the 
best chance of pleasing her; he is decidedly the 
handsomest and best-educated man in the regiment, 
though he has so little to say for himself.” 

“ Thank you for nothing, Mrs. Silvers,” laughed 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


29 


Jack Waters, the best-natured man in the regiment ; 
then added, in his friend’s interest, “ Volney is also 
good-looking, sings well, dances to perfection, and, 
if a trifle wild at times, he has not a bit of harm in 
him.” 

“ But is as poor as a church-mouse, dependent on 
his pay, and possessed of precious little stability of 
character, I fancy,” said Captain Ashbur. 

On coming in sight of Knocktin an impromptu 
race was inaugurated between the handsome Haw- 
thorn and the grim surgeon, each wishing to arrive 
first at the stopping-place and have the honor of 
assisting pretty Kate to alight. 

Hawthorn’s horse was the fleeter, but the canny 
Scot, determined to gain by foul means if not by fair, 
shouted in Spanish at the top of his voice to a Mex- 
ican who happened to be passing with a lasso on his 
arm : “ Stop that runaway horse ! Save my friend, and 
you shall have five dollars !” pointing to the horse- 
man in advance. 

That greaser would have lassoed the President of 
the United States for half the sum. The ready lasso 
flew and fell ; the astounded horse nearly fell from 
the abrupt check, and not even the rider’s excellent 
horsemanship availed. Like the lasso, he also flew 
(over the horse’s head) and fell. 

Seeing that he did not immediately arise, but lay 
like one dead, humanity got the better of love, and 
the repentant surgeon dismounted and hastened to 
the rescue. Now, you must understand that all this 
occurred in view of the rest of the party, who had 
3 * 


30 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


hurried forward. What these strange doings meant 
no one could tell ; not horse-stealing, for the Mexican 
had recovered his lasso and run away, leaving the 
horse behind him. The next scene was not calcu- 
lated to abate their surprise. Just as McBriar, lean- 
ing over his prostrate rival, seemed to be feeling his 
pulse, up sprang Hawthorn, overturning the stout 
doctoi* by a vigorous push, jumped upon the sur- 
geon’s horse, which was at hand, then whistling to 
his own, which galloped after him, made all speed 
for home. 

Tom, laughing until he cried, offered his horse to 
McBriar, but that gentleman preferred to walk the 
short distance remaining. He wished to collect his 
thoughts, and was now repenting himself of his 
former repentance ; his softness of heart had lost the 
advantage so cunningly won. 

Mr. Hawthorn had the felicity of holding the 
gloved hands of the colonel’s blue-eyed daughter for 
one moment as she was assi-sted from the high am- 
bulance, and also had the fun of seeing Rubenstein 
and Volney embrace each other in their hurry to 
anticipate him. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


31 


CHAPTER III. 

Miss Kate’s birthday gifts awaited her on her 
return home. Tom and his aunt, with Master Clay, 
went up to the house on the hill to share h^r sur- 
prise. Colonel Comerford informed his daughter that 
the Mexican capitan had brought his present in per- 
son, and regretted not finding her at home. 

“ My back is almost broken,” remarked the corpu- 
lent colonel, “ with the many bows I had to make. 
In taking leave on reaching the door he bowed pro- 
foundly; on the steps of the veranda he made a 
second obeisance ; half-way down the hill he turned 
for another bow ; at the foot came bow the fourth, 
and several others followed before I lost sight of him. 
I felt much like a nodding mandarin myself. 

Here is Jack Waters’s gift, as handsome as him- 
self,” continued the colonel, leading forth an arma- 
dillo so gentle that it would feed from one’s hand. 

“ A pig with a shell on him !” cried Clay Ashbur^ 
dancing about. “ I hope Cousin Kate will be afraid 
of him and give him to me. I would name him 
turtle-pig.” But Kate was delighted with a pet so 
unique. 

Hawthorn’s present was a large gray parrot with a 
red top-knot. 

“ And it talks Spanish, Cousin Kate,” said Clay. 
‘‘ It can say buenos dias and vamoSy and ” 


32 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


I’ll make you walk Spanish if you interrupt the 
proceedings of this court again,” said Tom. “ Is not 
this handsome, though ?” holding up a basket shaped 
like a vase, woven of grass and ornamented with 
birds and flowers in brilliant colors. 

“And what beautiful needle-work on this linen 
napkin which covers it!” said Miss Comerford, peep- 
ing into the basket. “ What can these be ? — straw- 
berries ?” 

“ Strawberries are unknown in this vicinity,” said 
her father. “ This is the fruit of a species of cactus. 
Each one of these berries is furnished with a skin 
covered with nettles ; the skins have been removed, 
leaving, as you see, a fruit like a white strawberry, 
and of much the same flavor.” 

All pronounced the berries delicious ; but whether 
the flavor of the note found lurking in the bottom of 
the basket suited Miss Kate’s taste quite so well is 
doubtful. She made a wry face over it, and in hold- 
ing it too near the lighted candle, which had now 
been brought in to dispel the twilight, being of in- 
flammable stuff, it somehow caught and was half 
consumed before Tom could rescue it. 

“ Don’t cry, Kate,” said Tom, in his most affec- 
tionate tone. “ Rubenstein will write you another 
when I tell him of this sad mishap. He will express 
himself in rhyme next time : 

“ * McBriar may lasso and Hawthorn may dash, 

But Katie she smiles on my w^alrus mustache.’ 

“ This is the doctor’s present,” continued Tom. “ I 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


33 


told him how fond you were of the study of natural 
history, and see, he has deprived himself of the gem 
of his collection. Says no second specimen can be 
procured of this rare size.” 

Here he offered his cousin a glass jar containing 
an orange-colored centipede at least six inches long. 

Mercy !” screamed Kate, recoiling. “ The man 
must have taken leave of his senses. Surely he never 
sent me such a monster !” 

Yes, you ungrateful girl, and you must at least 
pretend to be pleased. The old gentleman has made 
a great sacrifice, I do assure you.” 

“ Clay, you may present this,” said Colonel Comer- 
ford, coming from the next room with something 
alive in his handkerchief. 

“ Oh, give it to me, cousin !” cried Clay, holding 
fast what he had received. “ The darling little fairy, 
baby dog !” 

And truly there exists no other such liliputian 
specimen of the canine race as the Chihuahua dog. 
This one, though fully grown, could stand at ease on 
a lady’s hand. The hair, of a bronze-brown, was 
short and glossy, and the shape exactly that of a 
miniature greyhound. 

“ I declare, it is like a bronze paper-weight,” said 
Mrs. Ashbur ; “ and its eyes are like a gazelle’s, so 
large and soft. What is this on the silver collar? 
‘ K. C., from P. V.’ ” 

“Oh, you little darling! was ever anything so 
sweet ?” This from Miss Kate, as she hugged the 
tiny creature. 


34 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


Which, P. V. or the doggee ?” whispered Heron. 

“ Have you forgotten your Mexican present, daugh- 
ter?” asked the colonel, not over-pleased at these 
raptures over Volney’s gift. “ I am afraid it is costly, 
despite my prohibition. However, the sehor assured 
me it was given as a mere curiosity, — by no means 
as an article of dress. It has been handed down in 
his family for some centuries, — at least, so he said.” 

Opening a shallow sandal-wood box, in which was 
found the donor’s Senor Bolzones y de Miguel, 

Kate drew forth a heavy silk rebosa, the ground of 
delicate buff, embroidered in colors, in a succession 
of pictures representing ladies playing on guitars, 
cavaliers dancing, birds, flowers, bull-fights, and an 
endless variety of fantastic figures, for the scarf or 
rebosa was a yard in width and about three in length. 

“ This is, indeed, an invaluable curiosity, Kate, and 
so antique ; but it is not at all like the rebosas worn at 
the present day, which are invariably in subdued colors 
and without embroidery. I have a thread one which 
is about dust color,” said Mrs. Ashbur. “ But we 
must say buenas noches. Clay, and depart ; otherwise 
both big George and little George will think we are 
lost. I forgot to leave word that we were coming 
to Mount Olympus, as Dr. McBriar in one of his 
odes to Kate styles this hill. Come, Tom.” 

'' Adios, Cousin Kate,” said Tom , — '' Qo\x^\w Hebe 
I should say, I suppose, as you are neither Minerva 
nor Venus. The armadillo and little Chihuahua will, 
of course, be good friends ; but beware how you let 
Hawthorn’s parrot come within reach of Paul’s dog. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


35 

And, O Hebe, see that you treasure the gift of 
Esculapius. Surely the goddess of health and the 
health-giver should be kindred souls. Farewell, 
colonel,” touching his hat to Kate’s father, adding 
in a whisper as he went down the steps from the 
veranda with his aunt, “ Might I say Jove?” 

The Jupiter of the Knocktin Olympus was revolv- 
ing in his mind, while listening to Heron’s nonsense, 
the propriety of placing Miss Hebe where not even 
Pelion piled on top of Ossa would suffice to reach 
her. 

A week later there arrived in the garrison Pedro 
and Juan Mendoza, mounted on a burro (a small 
donkey) not much larger than a big dog, but with 
ears rnuy grande. The boys brought, with the com- 
pliments of their mother, a jar of dtole for Mrs. Fran- 
cisco, who had not been well enough to drive with 
the other ladies to the hacienda. The dtole proved 
to be a most palatable drink, made of boiled Indian 
corn, and was about the consistence of custard, sea- 
soned with sugar, lemon-juice, and nutmeg. 

Here is something the sehora has sent to you, 
Agnes,” said Captain Ashbur to his wife, handing a 
covered basket to that lady, as she and Miss Comer- 
ford (who spent much of her time with Tom’s aunt) 
were sitting together in the bed-room. “ Tortillas^ I 
believe.” 

Kate, will you please take them out of the basket ? 
I cannot disturb the baby just now,” said Mrs. Ash- 
bur, who held the sleeping child on her lap. 

“ Oh, excuse me, Mrs. Ashbur ; I am afraid,” said 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


36 

the young lady, getting as far from the proffered 
basket as possible. 

Of what, in the name of common sense ?” asked 
Captain Ashbur. “ I did not say torpedoes. Tortillasr 
And that is worse ; I dare not touch them.” 

‘‘Now, that is mere prejudice,” replied Mrs. Ash- 
bur. ‘‘ To be sure, they are not very inviting to the 
eye, being of a dingy hue, but that is owing to the 
color of the corn, and they are really delicious.” 

” Not to eat ?” exclaimed Kate, horrified. “ I have 
heard of locusts as an article of diet, but great hairy 
spiders ” 

“ By all that’s funny, if she is not thinking of taran- 
tulas r and Captain Ashbur shouted with laughter. 
“ Tortillas, my child, are a kind of griddle-cakes, 
made of corn, not ground, but boiled on the ear, and 
then reduced to a pulp by being rubbed up and down 
on a stone concern grooved or shaped like a wash- 
board, and called a metate. Entiende V. ? which 
meaneth, do you understand?'' 

‘‘ See !” said Mrs. Ashbur, taking the cakes out of 
the basket. “ Toasted and buttered hot, it is the best 
bread I ever ate. But I shall have to toast them 
myself, for our cook is so jealous of any cookery 
not her own that she will take pleasure in scorching 
them.” 

“ I am both enlightened and relieved,” said Kate ; 
“ but after the doctor’s centipede I am timid. Please 
don’t tell Tom Heron, or I shall never hear the last 
of it.” 

“Speak of the what’s-his-name and here he is,” 


4 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


37 

said Tom’s uncle, as that young man entered the 
front door without the ceremony of a knock. 

“ My name is nothing worse than Mercury, I thank 
you,” responded Mr. Tom. “ Kate, I am glad to find 
you here ; it will save me the fatigue of climbing the 
hill to deliver your invitation. The wings on my 
heels are somewhat out of order. What do you say 
to a dance across the river, — a regular, tiptop Mexican 
baile f Did you ever see anything so stylish as these 
tickets printed on white satin and bordered with a 
ruffle of yellow ribbon ?” 

“ A quillmg, not a ruffle, Tom,” objected his cousin, 
as she examined the pretty satin card with its Spanish 
legend. 

Every one is going, of course, except the officer 
of the day. Who will that unhappy mortal be, I 
wonder. Uncle George ? Let me see : it is twelve days 
from this time. Kate, don’t you hope it may not be 
Volney ? I love my love with a V, because he is 
versatile.” 

“ I hate my cousin with a T, because he is ” 

began Kate. 

“ A tarantula ; hey. Miss Kate ?” laughed Captain 
Ashbur. 

“ Remember your promise,” cried the young girl, 
snatching up her hat. “ Adios. Come up, to-morrow, 
Mrs. Ashbur, and see if my blue crepe lisse dress will 
do for the baileP 

It was early one morning not many days after this, 
and Mrs. Ashbur, in a low chair, sat busily sewing, 
rocking the baby in his basket cradle with one foot, 
4 



KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


38 

and giving an animated description of a Mexican 
bull-fight to Miss Comerford, who, seated on the 
cool green-and-white matting, was blowing soap- 
bubbles with Clay and Winny, while through the 
open doors there floated in every now and then from 
the back yard this refrain : “ Oh, carry me back to ole 
Virginny — to ole Virgin-i-ah’s shoV’ For old Phebe 
and Cindy, the baby’s nurse, were doing up the 
week’s washing, — that is, they were industriously 
singing, and accompanying themselves in a desultory 
manner with an occasional touch on the wash-board. 

No wonder the rap at the door had not been 
noticed, and Lieutenant Volney’s presence was first 
announced by his salutation of Bueiios dias, se- 
fioras r 

Miss Comerford sprang to her feet, blushing vio- 
lently ; for no good reason, as sitting on the floor is 
nothing to blush for. 

If you are not particularly engaged this morning, 
Mrs. Ashbur, Mrs. Duval begs you will come over 
immediately. Her cook has taken French leave — 
she was married last evening to Corporal Wells — and, 
her place being supplied by a Mexican who knows 
never a word of English, Mrs. Duval wants your as- 
sistance as interpreter, as you know a little Spanish. 
Otherwise, she cannot make any preparations for the 
party promised us to-morrow night. Now do go, 
that is a clever lady ; don’t let our party fall through. 
You are not particularly engaged now, are you ?” 

“Not much engaged! I am busy with both hands 
and one foot.’’ 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


39 

“ And one tongue ; I can testify to the last/’ inter- 
polated a voice from the back room, where Captain 
Ashbur had been for some time trying to accomplish 
some writing. 

‘‘Just run over, Mrs. Ashbur, that’s a dear lady. 
I’ll rock the cradle, and Miss Comerford will finish 
your sewing,” urged the persistent Volney. 

“ Aunt Aggy, I say !” cried young Heron, stepping 
in, fanning himself with his hat; “ Mrs. Silvers says 
bring your sewing over, and she will fit your button- 
holes while you cut and work her dress, — the one to 
be worn to the baile!' 

“ Do you really make your own dresses, Mrs. 
Ashbur?” inquired Kate. 

“ Yes; I should be in a sorry fix if I could not. I 
find my talent for cutting and fitting of more use 
than much I learned at school. I advise you, Kate, 
to leave off some of the useless ologies, of which you 
get but smattering, and take a few lessons in dress- 
making.” 

“ It seems you are in demand on the east side to- 
day, Mrs. Ashbur; but first come first served. Help 
Mrs. Duval this morning; Mrs. Silvers and the but- 
ton-holes can wait. You know we must have that 
dance,” entreated Volney. “ Say to Mrs. Duval I’ll 
drop in after drill is over and beat the whites of the 
eggs for her cake myself I’ve often done it for my 
mother.” 

“ Agnes, call in Cindy to rock the cradle ; Phebe 
can carry herself back to old Virginny without as- 
sistance, and the washing will get done somehow. 


40 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


sooner or later. What difference will a day make ?” 
said the gentleman of the house, appearing at the 
inner door in his shirt-sleeves. “ And Miss Kate and 
Volney will have to continue that entertaining bull- 
fight sotto voce ; I have these vouchers to make out, 
and have wasted enough time already. That con- 
founded animal of yours, Mrs. Ashbur, has been 
scampering over my paper for the last half-hour. 
And I can’t have the door shut this blasted hot 
weather.” 

“ I will take the children up with me to spend the 
day, Mrs. Ashbur ; you will be detained all day on 
the other side,” remarked Kate. “ Come, Winny ; let 
us go in and ask mamma.” 

Mrs. Ashbur consented to this arrangement, advis- 
ing Kate to sit a while with Mrs. Francisco, who en- 
joyed a little social chat in the morning. 

“ I’ll go in with you. Miss Kate,” said Mr. Volney. 
“ I have a most amusing story to relate, and Francisco 
condescendingly informed me the other day that his 
wife enjoyed my nonsense now and then.” 

” I do not think we should visit the sick with such 
frivolous intentions,” said the young lady, severely. 
” So you had better ” 

” Give her an impressive discourse on practical 
piety ? The ‘ rise and progress of religion in the 
soul,’ as depicted in my eloquently devotional style, 
would take you to the seventh heaven. I am equal 
to any length of ‘ Pilgrim’s Progress,’ ‘ Paradise Lost,’ 
James’s novels. Burton’s ‘ Anatomy of Melancholy.’ 
For instance: Now is the winter of our discontent 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


41 


made glorious summer by man’s first disobedience, 
and the fruit which turneth to ashes in the mouth and 
like an enemy stealeth away your brains, Thomas, my 
friend, if you happen to have any on hand.” 

“ I will follow up that enlivening discourse with 
* Hark ! from the tombs a doleful sound,’ ” sang Tom, 
through his nose, as the three, followed by the chil- 
dren, went in next door to cheer up Mrs. Francisco. 

“ When Mrs. Francisco is tired of us, I will go up 
with you and the children, Miss Kate. Your veranda 
will be a fine place for blowing soap-bubbles,” said 
Mr. Volney. 

Judging from the length of time spent in that 
delectable amusement, Tom — who in passing an hour 
later spied the merry party on the veranda, still amus- 
ing themselves blowing bubbles — surmised that Cupid 
was sending up a few of the airy nothings on his own 
account. “ Never you mind, Mr. Paul ; that big bub- 
ble of yours, which you fancy glowing with all the 
colors of Hope’s rainbow, will pretty soon be ex- 
ploded by a breath from the hard-hearted colonel, 
leaving a bad taste in your mouth,” soliloquized 
Tom. 


4 ^ 


42 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


CHAPTER IV. 

On consultation, it was decided by the ladies that 
an entertainment with the usual refreshments was, 
under the circumstances, out of the question. The 
Mexican cook knew no more of cake-making than 
he did of English. Mr. Silvers’s suggestion that a 
candy-pulling be substituted met with unanimous 
approbation. 

When dancing was mentioned, during the call Cap- 
tain and Mrs. Ashbur were making at Mrs. Fran- 
cisco’s to say they would take charge of little Winny, 
who also had an invitation to the candy-pulling, Mrs. 
Francisco remarked that she could not imagine how 
so large a party could find room to dance in so small 
a space. 

“ Oh, you have not been across the way for some 
time,” said Captain Ashbur, “ and know nothing of 
the changes. Why, my dear madam, Duval has had 
folding-doors put between their rooms at his own 
expense ; I believe he would add a second story if 
his wife wished it.” 

‘‘ When we dance there Mrs. Duval takes down 
her bedstead, and we have the use of both rooms, 
and even dance on the front porch. Mrs. Silvers 
lends the ladies the use of her front room as a dress- 
ing-chamber,” said Mrs. Ashbur. 

Mr. Volney had the felicity of walking down the 


SKETCHES OF GARRISOmX LIFE. 


43 


hill and over the few yards farther which brought 
them to Mrs. Duval’s door by the side of Miss Kate 
— and her father. The colonel stalked along like 
a shepherd-dog protecting a lamb from the wolf in 
sheep’s clothing, Volney fervently wishing he would 
stumble and roll down the hill for his pains, while 
mischievous Kate was highly diverted by the colonel’s 
precaution and Volney’s disgust. 

The company assembled were first treated to some 
enchanting music, — Mrs. Duval at the piano, accom- 
panied by Rubinstein on the violin. Waters with his 
flute, and Hawthorn’s guitar. 

Captain Rubinstein’s German, music-loving soul 
was so absorbed in the melody that even Miss Kate 
was for the time forgotten, greatly to the satisfaction 
of her other adorers. 

Then Mrs. Duval sang “Auld Robin Grey” so 
pathetically as to bring tears to the eyes of more 
than one of her audience. 

“ Why does Mr. Hawthorn retain his sword this 
evening and wear his sash drawn over his shoulder?” 
inquired Kate, in a low tone, of her cousin Tom. 
“ He looks as if posturing for a troubadour or a 
sentimental brigand, though I never imagined a 
brigand with blue eyes. Is he not a little vain of his 
beauty?” 

“ Oh, you innocent ! know you not that the officer 
of the day always wears his sash in that fashion, and 
that it is against regulations to lay aside his sword ? 
Hawthorn is not a man to do things for eflect.” 

After a few sets were danced, it was proposed to 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


44 

vary the amusements by a charade, or rather by a 
species of rebus or acted proverb. 

Those who intended to take part in the pantomime 
retired to the back room, and the folding-doors were 
closed. 

“ See what a handsome cornette I have made of this 
newspaper,” said Kate Comerford, when the proverb, 
or quotation, had been chosen and the different parts 
assigned. ” I represent a Sister of Charity.” 

“ Indeed, no,” objected Mrs. Silvers ; “a Sister of 
Charity is not precisely a nun, and you, Kate, are to 
be a nun!' 

“ Where is your rouge, Mrs. Duval ?” asked Jack 
Waters. ” I want a lot of it for war-paint.” 

Mr. Waters,” said that lady, ” I wish you to un- 
derstand that the roses which are visible on my cheeks 
are laid on simply by ‘ Nature’s cunning hand.’ I 
never indulge in borrowed hues.” 

“ Oh, excuse my ignorance ; I thought all fashion- 
able ladies rouged. A little brick-dust will answer 
just as well.” 

“ Use some of this blackberry jam, Mr. Waters,” 
said Gustavus Duval, a boy of seven, offering a small 
jar. “ Alcy and me use it for paint.” 

The jam was declined with thanks, and a substitute 
was found. 

After the usual confusion, blunders, and laughing 
incident to impromptu theatricals, the curtain rose — 
that is, the doors flew back — and Scene First was pre- 
sented. Lovely Kate Comerford, attired in the cos- 
tume of a nun, with a long white veil over her head, 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


45 

is discovered kneeling, with hands clasped and eyes 
raised to heaven. 

Doors close ; soon reopen, and show Scene No. 2. 
Four children are having a game of ball. Enter Mrs. 
Silvers’s goat (which has been carefully trained). Clay 
flourishes his bat and shoves Winny behind him, 
while Alcy and Gus Duval take to their heels around 
the room, the goat in full chase. Alcy climbs a tree 
(commonly called a chair) and the goat butts over 
Gustavus, who lies sprawling on the floor, when cur- 
tain falls. 

No one is to mention the word he imagines each 
scene to shadow forth until the whole has been rep- 
resented ; so all is silence while the Third Scene is 
acted. Lieutenant Waters, in guise of an Indian 
chief in full war-paint, horned head-gear, and enor- 
mous ear-rings of the purest tin, comes on with an 
unearthly war-whoop and a grand flourish of his 
tomahawk. 

The party behind the scenes, as well as the guess- 
ers, were quite unprepared for the war-whoop (which 
was an inspiration of the moment) and considerably 
startled by the outlandish yell. 

It is now announced that in the Fourth Scene the 
word is somewhat hidden, — the pronunciation not 
very exact. 

As the curtain rises the fife and drum are heard, 
and a company of soldiers march on the stage, each 
man having a large D on his hat. One of the sol- 
diers (who proves to be Major Silvers, with the tails 
of his coat tucked under to form a jacket) complains 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


46 

that he did not mean to ’list, but was took advantage 
of by the recruiting-officer, and he vows by Sint Path- 
rick he won’t serve, — “ can’t lave his poor widowed 
wife and orphan childer.” 

“ Faith, Mick, an’ ye’ll have to serve for five blissed 
year!” cries Mrs. Silvers, who, in Irish costume, rep- 
resents his indignant wife, with four ragged children 
hanging around her. “And right it serves you for 
making a drunken baste of yersilf till ye haven’t 
the full of a thimble of sinse lift to your noddle.” 
Curtain falls. 

Scene Fifth and last. Two rows of chairs stand 
facing each other, leaving a narrow space between. 
Clay Ashbur, perched on a high chair at the end of 
the rows, cracks his whip and sings out“g’lang!” 
The rest of the company in hats and bonnets — some 
carrying market-baskets — every now and then signal 
the driver, who turns the brake. They enter and 
seat themselves. Gustavus Duval, as conductor, then 
passes between them collecting the fare. Curtain falls 
for last time. 

Now there ensues a confusion of tongues and of 
haphazard guesses. The company who are to solve 
the enigma consult in groups. Some one is heard to 
suggest that the first word may be “prayer, vow, 
nun, veil.” 

“I have it,” shouts Dr. McBriar: “ The valley of 
the shadow of death. The first scene gives you the 
veil: the second, lie , — that boy did lie on the ground, 
— which makes valleyT 

“ But how does that Indian represent of the 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


A 7 

shadow T' interrupted Colonel Comerford. - “A 
mighty substantial shadow, I should say.” 

“ He IS the materialization of the shadow of death. 
You know coming events cast their shadows before,” 
rejoined McBriar, determined to stand by his own 
interpretation. 

“ Certainly, after the coming of that horned event, 
our shadows would be considerably less,” said Mrs. 
Ashbur. ” But you have not a shadow of a chance. 
Doctor, your explanation falls short by two whole 
scenes : there is the street-car and there are the 
soldiers unaccounted for.” 

“ Here is the proper way to get the clue,” said Tom 
Heron: ist. veil, pray, maid, vow, nun. 2d. Goat, 
play, butt, ball, bat, down. 3d. Indian, whoop, war, 
chief, savage. 4th. Recruit, drill, enlist, company, 
etc. 5th. ’Bus, car, fare, ticket, ride.” 

“You pays your money and you takes your 
choice,” sang out the shrill voice of Alcibiades Duval. 

“ Here it is in a nutshell,” said Captain Ruben- 
stein : “ A maid whom there was none to praise^ and 

very few to love. Scene First is surely a maid who 
there was nunA 

“ Very ingenious ; but how do you tack on the 
next scene?” inquired Captain Francisco. 

“ To praise — to praise. I believe I must give it 
up,” admitted Rubenstein. 

“He may just as well give up that maid as 
syne,” remarked Volney, aside to his friend Waters. 

“ I should say that the D on the soldiers’ caps 
had some signification,” said Mrs. Ashbur. 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


48 

“ Thank you, my dear madam ; now I have it to a 
7',” shouted McBriar, returning to the charge. D 
serves: deserves. One good turn deserves another. 
You kruow on a street-car there is always room for 
another r 

“ You are in too big a hurry, Doctor Mac,” laughed 
Mrs. Silvers. “ Begin at the beginning, if you please. 
Miss Kate says she is not one, or one good!' 

” Not won ! How sweet the assurance ! Then there 
may be hope for me yet,” cried the open-spoken 
surgeon. 

None but the brave deserve the fair !" exclaimed 
Mr. Hawthorn, who had made no previous guesses, 
bowing as he spoke to the ladies collectively, and 
to Miss Comerford in particular. 

“ There it is again !” said the disgusted doctor. 
“ This is the second time Mr. Hawthorn has pre- 
sented the flower after I had been at the trouble of 
removing the thorns.” 

“ I acknowledge my indebtedness, McBriar ; your 
deserves gave me the clue.” 

Mrs. Duval had been every moment expecting the 
return of her husband, bringing with him some guests 
from across the river. Whatever could have detained 
him, it is a well-known fact that taffy, like time, waits 
for no man, and must be pulled without delay when 
once it arrives at the right stage. 

So the smoking plates were brought in and placed 
on tables ; hands were hurriedly washed, and all went 
to work with right good will. 

Just as they were fully under way — the colonel 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


49 

pulling until he was red in the face and perspiring 
freely, Kate and Volney helping each other in the 
sweet work, — doubtless they would have been singing 
The Sweet Bye and Bye, had that song been in exist- 
ence, — Waters, still in part of his Indian toggery, 
going through a spirited war-dance on account of 
burnt fingers, the slight and sprightly Rubenstein 
hopping about the room for the like reason, all 
laughing, advising, remonstrating — Captain Duval 
made his appearance, and with him Senor Bolzones 
and el Doctor Moreno, the former a handsome, black- 
haired, bright-eyed, and fair-skinned Castilian of 
pure blood, the latter dark as a mulatto, low in stature, 
with uncouth features, — a common Mexican, in fact. 

After presenting his guests, whose low bowa»were 
returned with as much dignity as the candy-pullers 
found consistent with their own sticky condition. 
Captain Duval apologized for his unavoidable deten- 
tion in Mexico. 

The strangers, who had never before witnessed a 
candy-pulling, were somewhat astonished. However, 
the surgeon jumped to the conclusion that this must 
be an American dance. “ What pity so beautiful 
dance and no music ! I will the music make,” he 
cried, seized upon Hawthorn’s guitar, and struck up 
a spirited tune. 

All laughed and entered into the spirit of the 
dance, still pulling away at the taffy until stopped 
by sheer exhaustion. It was now insisted that the 
new-comers should be initiated into the mysteries of 
taffy-pulling, 
c d 


5 


50 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


While engaged in washing their hands on the back 
porch, Sehor Bolzones, who had been contemplating 
the dirty paws of his countryman with profound dis- 
gust as he fingered the guitar, remarked, “ I say, 
Moreno, if I report your proceedings to-morrow to 
our comandante, he will have you arrested for hand- 
ing over so large a portion of the soil of Mexico to 
a foreign power without compensation.” 

” Look to yourself, capitanl' retorted he of the 
dingy digits. “ Our country can better afford to lose 
a trifle of her soil than the hearts of her soldiers, and 
I suspect yours has wandered to the wrong side of 
the river.” 

In order not to lose sight of Miss Kate, Dr. Mc- 
Briar^had now joined her and Volney on the front 
porch, under pretext of cooling his candy. Some- 
what exhausted with his labors, our good surgeon 
sat himself down on a bench. He arose again in a 
hurry, and so likewise did a plate of taffy, which had 
previous possession of that bench. And, thirdly, 
there arose a cry of distress from Master Alcibiades 
Duval, who had there deposited his plate of sweet- 
ness to cool off. 

“ Thunder and lightning ! you limb of old Harry!” 
growled the doctor, tugging away at the plate. 

“ Limb yourself!” piped Alcy, picking up his plate 
as it fell. “ That isn’t fair now; you have carried off 
half my candy,” as the doctor sprang over the ban- 
ister and struck a bee-line for his own quarters. 

Alcibiades, you are a darling. I had no idea 
how fond I was of children,” said Volney. “ Here, 


S.KETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


SI 

you shall have half of my dulces : that is Mexican 
for sweets.” 

'' But you don’t know that Alcy is thinking of 
shooting you, Mr. Volney, because he wants Cousin 
Kate for his own sweetheart,” said Clay Ashbur. 
“ Now, I wouldn’t have a girl who was so ignorant. 
She don’t know nothing. I said I was going to tat- 
too, and she thought I was going to mark up my 
face like a savage Injun. And she can’t whistle roll- 
call or nothing. / think, being a colonel’s daughter, 
she ought to be sent to a milintery school.” 

“ I am going to a convent school,” said the young 
lady, ” where it is to be hoped some of my terrible 
deficiencies will be repaired. Mrs. Silvers has per- 
suaded my father to send me to the ‘ Sacred Heart’ in 
St. Louis instead of back to my old school. I have 
never been inside a convent, and have a great curi- 
osity about the life of the nuns.” 

” Why does not your father send you to a Church 
school ?” asked Mrs. Ashbur, who had joined them. 

“ You mean Episcopal; but my father’s family are 
all Presbyterians.” 

“Oh, then, of the two take the convent by all 
means,” replied Mrs. Ashbur, who was very High 
Church. “ We live like heathen at this post, no chap- 
lain, and no Protestant minister within miles of us. 
Mrs. Silvers is the only Catholic among us, if we 
except the major, who is of the same faith, but very 
lukewarm.” 

“ Mrs. Silvers tells me she always goes over the 
river to Mass, and has promised to take me with her 


52 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


next Sunday. She says we cannot wear bonnets, as 
they would attract too much notice in the church, so 
I shall have the pleasure of wearing the graceful 
rebosa. My black lace scarf will answer, she says, 
worn over the head. There are no seats in the 
church, and we must kneel or stand. I shall feel as 
if I had stepped back into the Middle Ages.’* 


CHAPTER V. 

On the morning after Mrs. Duval’s pleasant little 
party Mrs. Silvers and Mrs. Ashbur climbed the hill 
to make Miss Kate a visit. That young lady was not 
visible on the veranda or in the parlor, but the ladies 
followed in the direction of a great noise, which led 
them directly to Miss Comerford’s own room. The 
door standing wide open, they entered. Kate was 
reclining on a rug on the floor, with a tipped-over 
chair supporting the pillow under her head, and 
perched on the round of the chair sat the gray parrot, 
screaming in Spanish at the little Chihuahua dog, 
who was barking with all his might in his best Eng- 
lish from his. stand on the chest of his mistress. The 
quiet armadillo had contented himself with a bed on 
her muslin skirt with his head pillowed on her feet, 
making doubtless silent comments on his noisy com- 
rades. 

Quite undisturbed by this hubbub of discords lay 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


53 

blue-eyed Kate reading a novel, “ The Count of 
Monte Christo.” 

“ Here is the happy family,” said Mrs. Ashbur ; 
“we are just in time for the matinee. Good-morn- 
ing, Kate !” trying to give her voice the pitch which 
should make it audible between the screaming and 
the barking. 

“ Oh, do be quiet for a moment, can’t you ? You 
are a nuisance! I am just in the thick of the plot,” 
spoke the fair reader, quite oblivious of the addition 
to her morning party. 

“ I say, Kate I” screamed Mrs. Silvers, snatching the 
heavy volume from the hand of her startled hostess 
and bringing her to a sense of sublunary matters, 
“ we have not climbed this steep hill to be set down 
as nuisances by our colonel’s polite daughter.” 

Kate sprang to her feet laughing, threw a shawl 
over the parrot as the most effectual means of silen- 
cing him, while with one hand she held fast the mouth 
of Jose to stop his barking. The well-behaved ar- 
madillo retired of his own accord to a corner, the 
chair was set right end up, and the ladies made them- 
selves comfortable. 

“You might be more profitably engaged of a 
morning, my dear,” said Mrs. Silvers, “ than in read- 
ing such stuff ;” and she threw the book on the bed 
with a gesture of contempt, at which Dumas would 
have shrugged his Africo-French shoulders in sur- 
prise. 

“ Why, Mrs. Silvers, that is an unobjectionable 
book. The count is very noble, and goes about 
5 * . 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


54 

rewarding the good and punishing the wicked,” said 
Kate. 

“ Highly moral !” observed Mrs. Ashbur. “ It 
teaches the religion of revenge, to say nothing, of 
the good taste and propriety of a sinful man taking 
ipon himself to play the part of Providence in met- 
ing out rewards and punishments to his fellow-mor- 
tals. The book is intensely interesting, I must 
admit.” 

“ I can’t bear goody books,” said Miss Kate, frown- 
ing, “ where the heroines are angels minus wings ; 
and as to religious novels, they are the quintessence 
of dulness. A good old Baptist aunt of mine once 
insisted on my reading her pet book, feeling assured 
it would make me a convert to her faith, — ‘ Grace 
Truman,’ I think it is called. I read it from a sense 
of duty, but its exceeding dulness had the effect of 
leaving me less of a Baptist than in the beginning.” 

Mrs. Silvers Jaughed : “ I shall be careful not to 
let you read several Catholic novels I know of, for 
fear of like consequences.” 

“But I have several of Miss Yonge’s stories you 
are welcome to read, Kate,” remarked Mrs. Ashbur. 
“ They are as pure as pearls, deeply religious, and 
yet very interesting. I have actually shed tears over 
the death of the passionate yet noble ‘ Guy, Heir of 
Redclyffe.’ Amy, his wife, though, is rather over- 
goodish for my taste.” 

“ The ‘ Dove in the Eagle’s Nest’ is a most lovely 
mediaeval story,” rejoined Mrs. Silvers. “An air of 
peace and purity sgenis to exhale from all the works 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


55 

of this writer. I especially remember the scene in 
which Christina — the Dove — in order to save the life 
of her husband’s cousin, Wildschloss, insists upon 
his taking her twin babies — the young Eaglets — and 
showing them to his retainers; and this because 
Wildschloss must pass, on his way down to the cas- 
tle court, over a certain trap-door above an oubliette. 
The terrible old Kunigunde, — there’s a mother-in-law 
for you ! — as Christina knew, had removed the props 
of this door in order to make an end of Sir Kasimir. 
Of course Kunigunde dared not sacrifice her grand- 
children, and thus Wildschloss is saved.” 

“ The ardent love which exists between those twin 
brothers, and their loyal devotion to the dove-like 
mother, is one of the most touching things ever por- 
trayed by a novelist,” said Mrs. Silvers. 

“ I have read it,” said Kate, ” and I remember the 
marriage of the wounded Ebbo to little Theckla, and 
how I laughed when the Emperor Max, bending 
down to kiss the child-bride, received a rousing box 
on the ear, and Theckla crying, ‘ Go away with you. 
I know I’ve never married And I remember 

how sorry I felt for the father of the twins, coming 
home, after his eighteen years of imprisonment and 
slavery, to find everything so changed. Poor fellow ! 
his fate is more pathetic than even that of Rip Van 
Winkle. The story does not end according to my 
fancy, though,” Kate continued. “ The gaps in the 
narrative are too long. I should never had made 
Ebbo and his mother grow old, but should have let 
the curtain fall with Ebbo and Theckla still young. 


JCAT£ COMERFORD; OR, 


56 

surrounded by a group of little dove-eagles, and poor 
old Sir Eberhard in the midst, happy with his be- 
loved Stina and his grandchildren.” 

“ I often think,” said Mrs. Ashbur, dreamily, *^the 
manner in which fame is portioned out to writers of 
fiction is anything but fair. The writer of ‘ Jane Eyre’ 
— a genius, doubtless — is placed on a pedestal far above 
Miss Yonge, it seems; but Tor my part, rank heresy 
though it may be deemed, I should rather be known 
as the author of ‘ The Chaplet of Pearls’ or the ‘ Dove 
in the Eagle’s Nest’ than to have wrtten ‘ Jane Eyre’ 
or ‘ Shirley.’ ” 

Mrs. Ashbur had many peculiar tastes, and pre- 
ferred Dante’s “ Divine Comedy” to ” Paradise Lost.” 

The next day, as Miss Comerford sat with her 
friend, Mrs. Ashbur, in the house under the hill, in 
rushed Tom Heron, evidently troubled in mind. 
** Aunt Aggy,” cried he, ” do, for goodness’ sake, per- 
suade Uncle George to apologize, or he may not be 
out of arrest in time for the bade. You’ll see him 
come tearing in here directly without his sword.” 

“Has he been arrested?” exclaimed Miss Kate, 
raising her hands in horror. “ Oh, he will not be 
shot, will he ?” 

“ Oh, no,” replied Tom, coolly ; “ he will only be 
sentenced to police the garrison — which means, you 
understand, to take a broom and sweep up — with a 
large ball chained to his ankle. Aunt Aggy don’t 
seem much to mind it. She takes a philosophical 
view of the case, and thinks it all one whether he 
goes to the Ball or the ball is chained to him.” 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


57 

“Seriously, Kate, you are, for an officer’s daughter, 
shamefully ignorant,” remonstrated her friend. “ Cap- 
tain Ashbur’s offence has been nothing worse than 
disrespect to a superior officer. He gives up his 
sword, stalks about with nothing to do and cannot 
leave the garrison, and his pay is stopped, — that 
is all.” 

As Miss Kate is excusing her ignorance on the 
plea of never having before seen anything of army 
life. Captain Ashbur stalks in, looking somewhat like 
a thunder-cloud. 

“ What have you been doing, George ?” asked his 
wife, with a significant glance toward where his 
sword should have hitng. 

“Nothing, confound it! Just as drill was over I 
received an order to go out on a scout to-morrow 
morning. Now, I had an important engagement in 
the village for that day, and was a good deal put out. 
So I remarked, ‘ What a precious old granny I 
there are no Indians within fifty miles of Knocktin.’ 
I was only speaking to myself, and how the deuce 
was I to know that the soldier who brought the order 
had not taken himself and his long ears off? That 
little speech came to the colonel’s ears.” 

“ I hope you will apologize at once,” his wife 
hastened to interrupt, fearing that the length of the 
commanding officer’s ears might next be commented 
upon. 

“ I’ll do nothing of the sort,” was the curt reply. 
“ It is coming to that pass that a man cannot call his 
soul his own. Such tyranny is intolerable ” 


KATE COMERFORD; ORy 


58 

“ Captain Ashbur,” cried the colonel’s indignant 
daughter, how dare you call my father a tyrant, 
and a — a — that other name ? I will never speak to 
you again.” She seized her hat and rushed from 
the house, her blue eyes dark with anger. 

“ Stop, stop, Miss Kate, for mercy’s sake !” shouted 
the astounded captain, running after her, his passion 
quite cooled down by this counter-fire from a quarter 
so unexpected. “ What a brute I have been to speak 
so before you ! I beg ten thousand pardons.” 

“If that is your opinion of my father I would 
rather know it, and not be mistaking you for a 
friend,” returned Miss Comerford, bursting into tears, 
but not checking her rapid walk. 

“ But it is not my opinion of your father. Can’t 
you understand ? I was in a passion. My epithets 
were quite impersonal ; they were not intended for 
Colonel Comerford, but for the commanding officer 
in general. Had that order come from the angel 
Gabriel, he would have fared no better at my hands. 
Come, Cousin Kate, let us make friends; I will 
make every apology to the colonel at once. I hate 
myself for bringing tears to those pretty blue eyes.” 

Kate could not resist the penitent pleading of Cap- 
tain George. They parted good friends. Ample 
apologies were made and accepted, and the arrest 
removed in time to give the captain the pleasure of 
making one at the grand baile. The scout only 
lasted a day and a half ; and as her husband came 
safely home, not meeting with Indians (yet finding 
traces of the savages which quite vindicated the 



I 

j SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 

coloi judgment), Mrs. Ashbur was not very sorry 
that '^he “ important engagement” in town was not 
kept, 'k)r she shrewdly suspected a game at cards, 
not al together for amusement alone, was the attrac- 
tion ; / while Tom Heron blessed his stars that Kate’s 
timely tears had overcome his uncle’s obstinate 

scruples. 


CHAPTER VI. 


\\ FEW days previous to the time set for the Mex- 
ica n dai/e Mrs. Silvers had a long and private con- 
vex 'sation with Mrs. Ashbur, to which conference, 
fin ally, young Heron was admitted. The trouble 
w^is this : While sitting on her porch quite late one 
ev ening, Mrs. Silvers had overheard a conversation 
behtween Lieutenants Volney and Waters as they sat 
ojj i their porch, and just as she was about to move 
avway to avoid eavesdropping she fortunately caught 
tljie import of their words, which left no scruples 
about listening with the most rapt attention. Paul 
^kolney and Kate Comerford were actually betrothed, 
-[-the young geese ! — nor was this the full extent of 
blis madness and her folly. Despairing of gaining 
h er father’s consent, and fearing to lose her should 
s jie depart free, Volney had at length prevailed on 
I ler to agree to a clandestine marriage, the cere- 
•^ony to be performed while they were all in the 
Mexican town, on the very evening of the baile^ but 
not be acknowledged openly until the bride’s educa- 


X- 


6o 


J^ATE COMERFORD; OR, 


tion should be completed. Then Mr. Volney would 
address the supposed Miss Comerford in due form, 
gain her father’s consent, and be married in the face 
of all the world. It seemed that the two stood equally 
in awe of the colonel, and endeavored to persuade 
themselves that this first ceremony need never come 
to his knowledge at all. 

Mrs. Ashbur, in her indignation, denounced Mr. 
Paul Volney (hitherto a decided favorite of hers) as 
a pitiful villain who richly deserved to be cashiered. 
How could a man with one spark of honor persuade 
a girl — almost a child still — to such an act of diso- 
bedience and deceit? And how could Kate, certainly 
old enough to know better, be so lost to all womanly 
delicacy, so wanting in self-respect, as to consent tio 
a secret marriage ? 

Mrs. Silvers had been equally shocked ; thought; 
both the high contracting parties inexcusable. Bui: 
still Volney appeared to her more in the light of a, 
thoughtless, hare-brained youth, not at all conscious- 
of the gravity of the sin he was about to commit^. 
In fine, she thought both were to be pitied as well as& 
blamed, — pitied for the ignorance in which, as Protes- 
tants, they had been reared in regard to this matter.. 
Had they been taught to regard marriage as a holp 
sacrament, clandestine marriage as a sin, as the Churcl 
teaches, what a safeguard would this have been! 
Instead, these young people had all their lives heard 
courtship and marriage treated of in the most frivo- 
lous and worldly manner, and had seen, moreover, 
how easily the tie can be dissolved. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 6 1 

'*Too true,” assented Mrs. Ashbur; *‘but do not 
confound all Protestants. Many hold — I am sure I 
do — to the true Catholic belief in the sanctity and 
inviolability of marriage.” 

Now, nothing could be more simple than by a 
hint to the colonel as to how matters stood to make 
an end of the whole affair. Whether the adoption 
of this straightforward course was declined solely out 
of consideration for Volney’s future, or whether a 
slight taste of the ladies for intrigue might some- 
what have influenced the decision, who shall say? 
It was most assuredly true that to betray all would 
be the ruin of Volney, — at least, would make his posi- 
tion in the regiment a very awkward one. 

“ And I for one protest against having anything to 
do with Volnefs Ruins ; it is too immoral,” declared 
Heron. 

“ Be serious, if you can, Tom. This is no laugh- 
ing matter,” remonstrated the elder lady. “ We de- 
pend entirely on your ingenuity, Tom, to discover 

all the details of their precious plan, and ” 

I almost have it now,” interrupted Tom, waking 
as from a brown study. “ I might personate my 
cousin. ‘ Oh, Paul, what would papa say if he knew !’ ” 
mimicked Heron so perfectly that his fellow-con- 
spirators lost their gravity. 

However, Kate never says papa^ which you will 
remember, Tom,” said his aunt, “ if you should have 
to assume her character, which of course you will 
not.” 

“ There is no saying what the exigencies of this 
6 


62 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


most excruciatingly complicated case may require 
before we see the end of it,” replied Tom, solemnly 
shaking his wise head. 

The two ladies regarded each other in silence, feel- 
ing pretty much like a couple of children who were 
trusting to a monkey for some useful service. 

“ Can we trust your discretion, Tom ?” said Mrs. 
Silvers, in a doubtful tone of voice. 

“ Ladies, I give you my word as a gentleman, you 
may safely trust me. I see the folly of these young 
people as plainly as you do. Volney is not the man 
to make my cousin happy, and I will, — well, I will 
take him to the bottom of the Rio Grande and stay 
there with him until Kate is safe out of Texas but 
what I shall put a stop to this.” 

Though the dignity and gravity of the first part 
of this speech was rather upset by the winding up, 
it was plain to see that Heron was, for once in his 
life, in earnest. 

“ I really think Tom may be fully trusted,” said 
his aunt. “ At all events, it is Hobson’s choice.” 

Tom, who was not wanting in wit or common 
sense when he had an object in view, managed so 
well that he contrived to be an attentive though 
secret auditor of the following conversation between 
Volney and his friend : 

Waters. Well, Paul, if you will not be persuaded 
to give it up, I suppose I must help you ; but it goes 
against my conscience, I do assure you. Now, your 
notion of getting the padre to tie the knot will never 
answer. For why : as it is impossible to get unmar- 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


63 

ried when once the Catholic Church pronounces 
you man and wife, so, likewise, it is not half so easy 
to get the noose adjusted as it is among us Protes- 
tants. The priest will require your certificate of birth, 
baptism, confirmation, vaccination 

“ Damnation !" broke in the impatient Volney. 

“ No ; that much will be taken for granted,” said 
his friend, dryly. 

Volney. What the deuce do they want with my 
certificate of birth ? At my present age I should think 
that might be taken for granted. 

Waters. Unless you are supposed to be a self-made 
man. But to be serious — and, Paul, however may 
take it, / feel this to be a confoundedly serious under- 
taking. I would not stand in your shoes for, no, not 
for the rank of a major, when the time comes to 
make this stolen march known to the colonel. 

Volney. There will be no need of his ever having 
a suspicion of this little preliminary ceremony ; we 
regard it as only a species of betrothal. I will not 
run the chance of losing my darling forever by letting 
her go free. There is nothing like taking time by 
the forelock. 

Waters (with a profound sigJt). A wilful man must 
have his way; but if the colonel was within ear-shot, 
you would think you had taken a mule by the fet- 
lock. The priest being out of the question, I have 
been making inquiries, and find there is a Protestant 
minister, an American, residing in the town ; he has, 
of course, given up preaching and gone into business, 
but he will answer our purpose. Fortunately, he 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


64 

lives only a block or two from the house in which 
the ball is given. I’ll arrange it all with the parson 
beforehand. We can step over from the ball-room, 
have you put into double harness, and be back again 
among the dancers before we are missed. 

Volney. We must throw cloaks over our uniforms 
and pass ourselves on the parson for Mexicans, to 
make assurance doubly sure and prevent an inkling 
of the affair reaching the old gentleman. It will be 
easy enough to pick up enough Spanish to enable us 
to make our responses. Wouldn’t Rubenstein give 
his eyes, or his moustache, to know what we are 
about ? 

“And what would you give, I wonder,” said Tom 
to himself, “ to know that I am about to put a spoke 
in your wheel, a spider in your dumpling, — in fine, to 
throw a wet blanket on your hopes and cruelly ex- 
tinguish Hymen’s torch? A pretty wedding this for 
a daughter of the house of Comerford ! — no cake, no 
cards ! Well, gentlemen, you will find you have 
played your cards so badly that I shall take the odd 
trick and win the game as sure as my name is Tom 
Heron.’* 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


65 


CHAPTER VII. 

Rubenstein, as officer of the day, had to forego 
the pleasure of the trip to the Mexican post to at- 
tend the grand ball. Almost every one else, even 
Mrs. Francisco, went over, Mrs. Ashbur and Mrs. 
Duval taking their babies and nurses along, as the 
party from Knocktin Barracks was to remain all night 
on the Mexican side. 

Crossing the river in the ferry-boats, the Ameri- 
cans were met at the landing by a number of car- 
riages and an escort of soldiers, sent by their courteous 
hosts to convey them to the town, some four miles 
distant from the Rio Grande. 

That is a picturesque dress and a pretty brown 
face,” remarked Mrs. Francisco as they passed a 
peasant-girl by the road-side. Her costume con- 
sisted of a bright woollen falda, or skirt, in white 
figures, the upper part of the skirt being plain blue. 
No spencer was visible ; the chemise was handsomely 
wrought, while the gray thread rebosa, passing over 
the head and across the breast, with one end thrown 
over the left shoulder, served to drape the bare neck 
and arms. 

^ I particularly admire the courtesy of manner so 
universal among the people here,” said Mrs. Ashbur. 
“ When we pass a Mexican on the road he never fails 
to touch his hat and wish us buenos dias, or buenas 


66 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


tardes ; while Americans — or shall I say United 
Staters? it seems rather presumptuous to claim ex- 
clusively the first title among a people who have an 
equal right to be called Americans — pass each other 
as if they were not inhabitants of the same planet.” 

“ We Americans of the North might well take a 
lesson in politeness,” said Mr. Hawthorn. “And do 
you observe, Mrs. Ashbur, how much more compre- 
hensive than ours is the Spanish salutation ? They 
wish us not simply good-day, but good-days, — that 
is, many of them.” 

On arriving in the small village, which was also a 
military post, the ladies found that they had rooms 
in the same house in which the ball was to be held. 
This arrangement was very convenient, especially for 
Mrs. Duval and Mrs. Ashbur, on account of the babies. 

About twilight Tom Heron was strolling leisurely 
along the suburbs of the town by the side of the 
madre azacaya (that is, the big ditch which supplies 
the smaller ditches for the purpose of irrigation), pon- 
dering on his plans for saving his silly cousin and 
routing Hymen, when, observing a boy wading about 
with his trousers rolled above his knees, he hailed 
the lad, mostly for the purpose of airing his stock of 
Spanish : ^^Ven aca, mi buen muchachito P" 

“Vinegar yourself,- Mr. Tom! Why can’t you 
talk English ?” replied the supposed Mexican. 

“ Alcy Duval 1” cried Heron. “ What the dickens 
are you doing on the wrong side of the Rio ?” 

“Oh, wanted to see foreign countries, and mother 
said I should not come with the rest of you ; so I 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


67 

just smuggled myself over in advance. Have some ? 
They are first-rate,” shaking himself as he came out 
of his foot-bath and proffering a handful of penones 
(pine-nuts, which look like large brown beans). 

Muy bueno^ said Tom, as he tasted one. “I’ll 
wager you will find out everything that is good to 
eat during your sojourn in a foreign land.” 

“ You bet!” said Alcibiades, winking with his left 
eye. “ Hush ! here comes your Cindy and our 
Bridget, giving the babies an airing. I am going to 
’sprise them and have some fun with Cindy.” This 
was Mrs. Ashbur’s colored nurse. 

“ I say, Mr. Tom,” as the nurses and babies came 
near, “ did you ever before see a Mexican girl as dark 
in complexion as that one ? I think she can’t be of 
the pure Castile-soapian blood. I’ll ask her name, 
and if that white baby is hers.” 

“ Senora, como sammer stay f (his way of pro- 
nouncing Como se llama V.). “And is that muy 
bianco nino your own ?” 

Bridget gave a start and nearly dropped her baby, 
while Cindy tossed her turbaned head in disdain. 

“ You here 1” said the former ; “ faith, I belave it’s a 
fairy changeling you are, for no mortal child was ever 
so full of the mischief.” 

“ But won’t his father make him laugh on t’other 
side of his mouf, poco tiempo, quien sabe said Cinda, 
getting in her word of Spanish, of which she had 
picked up more than either Heron or Alcy. 

“ Hear ! hear I they can speak broken English,” 
cried Alcy, feigning unbounded surprise. 


68 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


Anyhow, Cinda, seeing it is you,” said Heron, 
“ are you aware that you were free from the moment 
your foot touched Mexican soil ? A pretty sizable 
foot for a Cinderella. Perhaps you will claim your 
freedom and elect to stay on this side. Hey?” 

“ Don’t s’pose, do you. I’d leave Miss Agnes to 
live ’mong these Greasers! They are so ignorant 
they can’t understand you when you talk to ’em in 
American, and do nothing but jabber. Besides, I 
thank my stars I ain’t no Romisher, bowing down to 
idols and popes. I don’t want to be caught up and 
hid away in a convent and made a monk of” 

When the mother of Alcibiades found that her 
eldest son had embraced this opportunity of begin- 
ning his foreign travels, she only smiled calmly and 
remarked that “boys will be boys.” Tom Heron 
said this was the first time the lady was ever known 
to condescend to use four short words in succession. 

The walls of the sala grande on the night of the 
ball were handsomely decorated with swords and 
bayonets arranged in fanciful figures, and with the 
Stars and* Stripes and the Mexican flags hanging in 
amicable festoons. The dances consisted of quad- 
rilles, waltzes, polkas, schottisches: every Mexican, old 
or young, high or low, dances. The military band 
discoursed inspiriting music, and Mrs. Duval was 
especially struck by the plaintive national air of the 
Ponchada, played between the dances. Of course the 
courteous managers failed not to introduce that grand 
old tune. The Star-Spangled Banner, which sounded 
doubly sweet when heard on foreign soil. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


69 

Every one enjoyed the evening thoroughly; the 
gay dresses of the ladies, the bright uniforms of the 
Mexican officers, and the less showy yet very taste- 
ful ones of the United States infantry and artillery, 
with the background of flags and swords, presented 
altogether a brilliant combination. 

The Mexican comandante shone resplendent in 
gold embroidery, even the stripes down the sides of 
his pantaloons being embroidered in gold thread. 

Young Heron hoped that by the time he gained 
his commission this improvement would be intro- 
duced in the uniform of the infantry in place of the 
plain stripe of white cloth. 

The hat of the comandante resembled the old 
Revolutionary cocked hat, and across the crown was 
arranged a row of short ostrich-plumes. 

Miss Comerford, who was to leave Texas on the 
next day with her father, found this, her first ball, 
always an event in the life of a young girl, simply 
enchanting. 

“ Beso las manos de K,* seiiordF [I kiss your hands], 
said a Mexican officer to Miss Comerford,* making a 
low and stately bow as he passed on. 

“What did that gentleman say when I promised 
him my hand for the next dance?’’ inquired Miss 
Kate. 

“ He says it is base and low manners to stay hang- 
ing round a lady who is dancing with another gentle- 
man,” replied saucy Tom., 


* Note. — V. for usted; pronounced 00-stay. 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


70 

Volney could not help laughing, for this exactly 
described his own position, as Kate was dancing with 
her cousin; but he refused to take the broad hint, 
and stood his ground, getting in a word or two in the 
pauses of the dance. 

“ This room is tastefully ornamented,” innocently 
remarked Volney, for Tom’s benefit, then added, in a 
low tone of voice, “ In the confusion after supper — 
(aloud) I am glad to see these flags hanging peace- 
fully side by side — (in undertone) — meet me at the 
south doorP 

I shall if I am spared !” was the inward resolve 
of Master Tom, whose sharp ears had not failed to 
catch the last words. 

No one but Mrs. Silvers noticed that very soon 
after this Mrs. Ashbur and young Heron disappeared 
simultaneously from the ball-room. Now, some fif- 
teen or twenty minutes later. Captain Ashbur, on 
going to their room in search of his wife, found her 
in close conversation with a lady in blue, whose head 
and face>were almost hidden by her rebosa, 

“ Agnes, Hawthorn says you promised this set to 
him. Hillo, Kate ! I thought I left you on the floor. 
And so you have adopted the graceful rebosa T' 

“ Mrs. Ashbur,” lisped the lady in blue, “ the cap- 
tain will bear watching; Tom says he is sweet on the 
sehoritas f and she glided out of the room. 

“ Heavens, how like 1” exclaimed the captain’s wife, 
taken off her guard. 

Like what ? If you mean like my old self be- 
fore we were married, to flirt, I assure you, my dear, 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


71 

you are mistaken. I am too swarthy myself to fancy 
brunettes.” 

“ Nonsense, George !” laughed his wife. ” Let us 
return to the Terpsichorean hall, as Mrs. Duval 
might say. I can’t stay here listening to your ex- 
cuses while my partner is waiting. Remember, you 
are to dance the last set with me ; if it is not exactly 
according to etiquette to dance with one’s husband, 
our friends here will perhaps take it as one of our 
North American fashions, and a very pretty custom 
it is, I think.” 

Supper was no sooner over than Mrs. Ashbur 
found herself taken suddenly ill, and, seizing Miss 
Comerford by the arm, begged she would have the 
kindness to go with her to her room. That young 
lady, who was just then bent on going in another 
direction, looked wildly around, hoping to find a sub- 
stitute, but all in vain. And, to add to her chagrin 
and perplexity, no sooner had they reached her apart- 
ment than Mrs. Ashbur fainted quite away. 

Mrs. Silvers, who now entered the room, pooh- 
poohed the idea of Kate’s running for the doctor or 
for Captain Ashbur. What was the use of making a 
disturbance? She would undertake to bring anyone 
out of a simple fainting-fit. And, after some ener- 
getic measures on her part, her efforts were duly 
rewarded. Mrs. Ashbur began to show slight symp- 
toms of revival. 

Here at last was Kate’s chance ; so that young 
lady begged to be excused for a moment, she would 
soon return. 


72 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


My dear,” said Mrs. Silvers, as she coolly locked 
the door, keeping the key in her hand, “ how can 
you be so very unfeeling? I shall not leave our poor 
friend, nor must you. Indeed, how could you, unless 
you choose to leave half your dress behind you ? 
See how convulsively she grasps your skirt.” 

“This is intolerable!” exclaimed their victim, 
stamping her foot. “What shall I do?” 

“ Kate,” spoke Mrs. Ashbur, suddenly coming into 
full possession of all of her lately-suspended facul- 
ties, “ do you not think some three years hence, and 
in your father’s house, will be the best time and place 
for this little drama, in which you were about to act 
the part of Juliet ?” 

The startled and blushing maiden clasped her hands 
over her eyes in a passion of tears, in which anger 
had more share than grief. 

“ Does my father know Have you told my 

father?” she demanded. 

On being solemnly assured he was in blissful igno- 
rance of the whole affair, “ If you will promise never 
to tell him I’ll — forgive you,” sobbed the magnani- 
mous maiden. 

“ Indeed you will, and thank us too before many 
months have gone by,” replied Mrs. Silvers. “ Can 
you not see that any man capable of leading you 
into such a hare-brained escapade would prove no 
suitable protector!” 

“ Think of the ingratitude, the deceit, toward your 
kind father. Moreover, what, does a child like you 
know of her own mind? A few years hence and 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


73 

Paul Volney will not suit your ideas of a husband at 
all,” added Mrs. Ashbur ; thus, after the manner of 
successful people, pushing her advantage a step too far. 

“ I did not think of it in that light. I never thought 
of my father’s feelings,” said Kate, sadly, answering 
the first clause of the speech. Then to the second 
she responded, impatiently, I never want to hear a 
word on this subject again. I am sick of it. I hate 
advice. Indeed, just now I believe I hate everything 
and everybody.” 

“ I trust Monsieur Paul comes in for a full share 
of that disgust, as the prime cause of all this vexa- 
tion,” whispered Mrs. Silvers to her co-conspirator. 
“ Let us wash our faces, shake out our ruffled plu- 
mage, return to the ball-room, and have one more 
dance before we retire,” she continued aloud, adjust- 
ing her gauze turban and passing the towel dripping 
with bay-rum to Miss Comerford. 

The young bride that was to have been bathed 
her flushed face, heaved a long sigh, — of relief it 
sounded, — and was soon laughing and dancing, so 
evidently heart-free as to prove what a child she 
really was. 

“ Where is Aunt Agnes ?” young Heron was heard 
inquiring on the following morning soon after break- 
fast. “ She promised to take a stroll with me this 
morning to see the old church. Oh, Mrs. Silvers, 
you will do just as well. Come!” unceremoniously 
tucking that little woman’s hand under his arm and 
hurrying her away. No sooner were they out of 
hearing than he began : 

D 


7 


74 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


“ I shall explode if I don’t confide in some one. 
The day of my destiny’s over ! Oh, thou hast been 
the cause of this anguish, my — cousin ! I was o’er 
young to marry yet, but Fate would have it so, and 
the matrimonial lasso has fallen and I am throttled!” 
placing his hands on his throat. 

“ Tom Heron, if you don’t put a stop to this non- 
sense and tell me a straight story. I’ll leave you.” 
And Mrs. Silvers stood still in the path, looking as if 
she would like much to push her teasing companion 
over into the cool waters of the azacaya, 

“ Well, thus it was ; we met (’twas not in a crowd, 
and I knew he would not shun me, — bad luck to 
him ! — but at the south door). Now, my honest inten- 
tion was to excuse myself from keeping my — I mean 
Kate’s ; well, it is all one — promise, and then to get 
away as fast as possible. But Fate, or Cupid, held 
other views in the matter, and carried them out. 
For once the course of true love ran with alarming 
smoothness. I was hurried along between Volney 
and Waters — against my will.” 

“ Tom Heron, you never mean to say that you 

went to the length of We ought to have known 

better than to trust such a mad-cap;” and Mrs. Silvers 
gave a troubled groan. 

“ Ingratitude, thy name is woman ; this is the thanks 
I get for departing from the dignity of my sex, and 
getting myself into a predicament from which it will 
require all my wit and ingenuity to escape. But, my 
dear lady, please don’t interrupt again. I begin to 
feel symptoms of collapse, or something, after all I 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE, 


75 

have gone through with, and I wish to unburden 
my conscience before I faint away. 

“ I was hurried on against my will, as I was telling 
you. Now, fortunately, some presentiment of what 
was coming must have crossed my mind, for, before 
leaving the ball-room, in passing McBriar, I asked 
him : ‘ What is I do in Spanish ?’ ‘ Como esta V.* said 
he. So as we three went along (looking like three 
black dominos, wrapped in our cloaks) I kept repeat- 
ing, under my breath, * como 'star stay, como 'sta stay! 
until, having my attention distracted by one of Vol- 
ney’s confounded love-speeches, I lost the first part. 
And, if you will please to believe me, I tried every 
lake on the globe before I got back to the right one. 
It was Superior 'star stay, Erie 'star stay, Ge7teva 'star 
stay, before I got back to Como. 

“ When the parson looked at me and asked in 
Spanish if I would have that woman — man I mean 
— to be my wedded wife — husband, I would say — I 
lisped and simpered, 'Como 'star stay' 

“ Here Jack Waters, who was bridesmaid, behaved 
shamefully; he giggled, and nearly swallowed his 
handkerchief; then he whispered to me, ‘ 5/? But 
all I wanted to see was my way out of that mess. 
The ring did very well for my little finger, and Paul 
was too far gone to notice the difference of third or 
fourth finger.” 

“ No wonder Mr. Waters laughed, when you said 
‘ Hoiv do you do ?' instead of ‘ I do', " said Mrs. Silvers, 
laughing in spite of herself, “ though it should have 
been, ‘ / will! " 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


76 

Ah !” said Heron, drawing a long breath, “ that 
is the first ray of comfort I have had yet. I am not 
nearly so much married as I thought. Those lines 
of Scott have been all night sounding a mournful 
dirge through my poor brain : 


“ ‘ Widowed wife and wedded maid; 

Betrothed, betrayer, and betrayed.’ ” 

“ Mrs. Silvers, you and my aunt must keep counsel, 
for Volney will call me out if ever he hears of this 
trick.” 

“ Not a soul shall know a word from us. And 
perhaps it will sober Paul Volney down a little to be 
allowed to believe, for a while, he is really married. 
We shall take care, for your sake, that no oppor- 
tunity occurs for explanation. Colonel Comerford 
and Kate leave this very afternoon for New Orleans.” 

On their way home Miss Kate was very quiet, and 
not a little astonished to observe Mr. Volney’s high 
spirits. Some one remarked, as the ferry-boats were 
taking them slowly over the Rio Grande, that Heron 
was not himself, so rapt in contemplation he seemed. 

“ Nor am I myself,” said that young man. “ Is 
my name still Heron ?” addressing the clouds as 
he gazed heavenward. 

“ Tom is so immersed in Spanish that he supposes 
his very name translated,” hurriedly observed his 
aunt, feeling uneasy as to what might come next. 

“Yes, that is it,” rejoined Tom. “What is the 
Mexican for Heron, I wonder ?” 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


77 

Gazal' said Mr. Hawthorn. “ And Jack’s here,” 
touching Waters’s shoulder, “ would be yuan Aguas^ 

“ What would mine be?” said Kate. 

“ Catalina for Catharine ; I do not know how to 
change the Comerford,” said Hawthorn. 

Perhaps Paul does,” remarked Waters, innocently, 
expecting, of course, to see the young lady blush. 

Mil gracias, I prefer mine as it is,” said the un- 
abashed Kate, actually laughing. 

” And quite right, for some years to come. Miss 
Kate,” said Dr. McBriar, “ and then you shall have 
the refusal of mine. Pray, what are you laughing at, 
young men ? A very good old name it is.” 

” She takes the situation coolly,” whispered Waters 
to his friend. 

In a few hours after reaching home. Colonel 
Comerford and his flaxen-haired, blue-eyed daughter 
stepped on the deck of the small steamboat which 
was to take them as far as the Gulf on their way to 
New Orleans, and from thence they would go on to 
St. Louis, leaving Major Silvers in command at 
Knocktin Barracks. 

” Do not forget our trip into Mexico,” said Volney, 
impressively, as he clasped Miss Comerford’s hand in 
a last adieu. 

I shall always bp thankful that — that — all ended 
as it did,” stammered the lady, blushing. 

As the boat moved off Lieutenant Waters re- 
marked to his sorrowing friend, “ I know not which 
most to admire, Mrs. Volney’s candor or her com- 
posure.” 


r 


PART SECOND. 


LIFE IN TENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 

If the climate of Italy is really more delightful 
than that of Texas in the region of San Antonio de 
Bexar, — if its skies are bluer, its sunsets more ra- 
diantly beautiful, its flowers brighter, — then must 
Italy fall little short of Paradise. 

In the early autumn of 185-, more than two years 
subsequent to the parting of Paul Volney with the 
young girl he believed to be his bride, the birds 
flying under the deep-blue sky and over the bright 
flowers of the rolling prairie, some fifty miles north 
of San Antonio, looked down upon a long train of 
white-covered wagons, preceded by six companies of 
infantry trudging wearily along, with their bayonets 
and tin canteens gleaming in the rays of the de- 
scending sun, the monotony in hue of their light- 
blue uniform, broken here and there by the dark-blue 
of that of the officers. Some of the officers marched 
on foot with their men, while others, who could afford 
to keep a horse, made his feet serve instead of their 
own. 

78 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE, 


79 

The field-officers, Colonel Comerford and Major 
Silvers, accompanied by Dr. McBriar, the surgeon, 
rode side by side in the van of the procession, con- 
sulting over the most suitable spot for camping. 
Colonel Comerford’s good steed, like John Gilpin’s, 
carried weight, that officer having grown no thinner 
since we saw him last at Knocktin Barracks. 

In the rear of the few wagons which now pushed 
forward in advance of the train to the camping- 
ground, because they were loaded with the tents and 
camping equipments of the officers, came the ambu- 
lances of those who had their families with them. 

The stopping-place is reached ; the wagons are , 
drawn up on a hill-side in a grove of live-oaks. The 
men swarm about like ants ; stakes are driven, mules 
and horses watered and picketed, tents pitched, and 
in less than an hour the whilom lonely landscape is 
made cheerful by a village of white tents. Perhaps 
the birds, sailing far overhead, fancy the large tents 
of the officers and the smaller ones of the soldiers 
to be some strange species of mammoth bird with its 
young. 

The children, tired of so much riding, scamper 
hither and thither, delighted to stretch their little 
legs and to gather the wild-flowers. The ladies 
rest quietly in their tents for an hour or so, then take 
a bath, make their simple toilets, and are ready for 
the late dinner, — or, as the children call it, dinner- 
supper, — taken,'if weather permits, in front of the tent, 
the sun being now almost down. After this the 
ladies walk abroad, visit each other, or stroll down to 


8o 


JiTATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


the other end of the camp to see the soldiers answer 
to roll-call and to listen to the cheery music of the 
fife and drum. 

This detachment of troops consists of six compa- 
nies of the — let us say Twelfth Regiment of Infantry 
(this is not the correct “number, for at that time, 
185- there were not so many infantry regiments in 
the service, but we never like to read of the BlanktJi 
Regiment), on their way to establish a post in the 
wilderness, some two hundred miles north of San 
Antonio. Toward evening four ladies and a dozen 
or two officers had assembled in front of Mrs. Silvers’s 
tent. 

“And so you are sorry to leave San Antonio, 
Mrs. Ashbur?” said Mrs. Silvers. “ On the contrary, 
we were willing enough to desert Fort Davis, although 
my husband was in command there, and will not be 
at our new post. We were so completely out of the 
world at that retired spot ; besides, I never could rid 
myself of the impression that Indians were perched 
upon the rocks above that narrow canon, ready to 
hurl the loose stones down on our devoted heads.” 

“ Dear, delightful, picturesque San Antonio, with 
its odd mixture of old Mexican and new American 
buildings; its quaint old church, historical A/a 7 no, nar- 
row streets ; its suburbs of huts minus floors or 
chimneys ; its clear, shallow river winding through the 
town, lovely flowers, gnarled old fig-trees and gor- 
geous pomegranates ! It breaks my heart to leave 
thee, and to think it may be years before I see thee 
again ! And we have been compelled to leave half of 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE, Si 

our furniture behind for want of transportation,” added 
Mrs. Ashbur, with a sudden descent from sentiment 
to commonplace. 

“ There’s not in this wide world a valley so sweet,” 
sang Mrs. Duval. 

“ Do you know, Kate, there is actually a Va/e of 
Avoca in the neighborhood of San Antonio ?” said 
Mrs. Ashbur, turning to the young lady who sat by 
her side. For, her years of school-life over. Miss 
Comerford had returned to Texas to preside over the 
household of her father. To compare her in beauty 
to her former self, as the open rose to the bud, will 
not suffice, for the bud is by many preferred to the 
rose. So we shall say she was now as much more 
lovely as the full-fledged bird is than the nestling. 
Character, soul, intellect, which were but faintly out- 
lined in the young maiden, now found full expression 
in the deep-blue eyes and singularly handsome mouth. 

Lieutenant Hawthorn, who had found the colonel’s 
daughter charming in the olden time, now felt her to 
be simply irresistible. 

“And have you no regrets at leaving El Paso, 
Mrs. Duval?” asked Captain Ashbur. “Waters has 
been tantalizing us on the weary march to-day by his 
vivid description of the luscious fruits of that Blissful 
spot.” 

“ Fort Bliss is assuredly highly favored in that 
respect. I am passionately fond of fruit, and I shall 
long cherish the remembrance of its golden quinces, 
its clusters of transparent purple and white grapes, — 
which might be compared to pearls and amethysts, — 
/ 


82 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


from which flowed delicious nectar, and its saccha- 
rine figs, sweeter than ambrosia. Still, there were 
shadows on the sunny picture, and I am glad to have 
been withdrawn from the scene before my darling 
infants had all the sense beaten out of their little cra- 
niums, or their tender limbs dislocated, or ere I had 
sprained my ankles walking over the ill-constructed 
pavements,” was Mrs. Duval’s short and simple 
answer. 

“ Timber is so scarce up there,” explained Captain 
Duval, that our floors were of brick, and, although 
they were softened by a layer of straw and two 
carpets, one over the other, still our children got 
some terrible bumps from falls. And after Antonio 
had tumbled out of bed and raised some bumps not 
set down in phrenology, my wife insisted on dis- 
pensing with a bedstead. But I can’t say I fancied 
sleeping on the floor, for the spiders and granddaddy- 
long-legs to make a promenade of my counte- 
nance. The pavements in front of our doors had 
been laid with cobble-stones by some good Catholic 
with a view to penance. But I was well enough 
contented there, for, though the region about us was 
a desert, the post itself was a jolly place.” 

“ Entirely too much so for married men,” rejoined 
his wife, for, what with dances, bull-fights, cock- 
fights, and other delectable and refined amusements, 
our officers spent quite too much of their time across 
the river in the old town of El Paso. And the fine 
sand of Fort Bliss was another nuisance, penetrating, 
as it did, through crevices and keyholes, until often 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


83 

the figures on the carpets were quite obliterated. To 
be sure, the green plot of Mexican clover in the 
centre of the garrison seemed all the more lovely 
by contrast with the surroundings, — an oasis in the 
desert.” 

“ Well, I don’t know how we shall manage to exist 
without the fruit,” remarked Lieutenant Heron, who 
had at last received his commission. “ From May, 
when the apricots ripened, all along until winter, we 
almost lived on fruit, — figs, grapes, peaches, pears, 
apples, quinces. Such quinces as grow nowhere else 
on this continent. I kept a pile of them in one 
corner of my room that I might enjoy their fra- 
grance. The orchards and vineyards are all irri- 
gated ; consequently the fruit-crop never is known to 
fail.” 

“ The El Paso onion is a monstrous fine fruit too,” 
exclaimed Dr. McBriar, rubbing his hands, as over 
some pleasant recollection. 

‘‘ Yes ; the doctor kept a pile of them in his room 
that he might enjoy their delicate bouquet,” said Mr. 
Waters, with one of his good-natured smiles. 

“ Everything goes by contraries at El Paso, Miss 
Kate,” observed Captain Francisco (captain by bre- 
vet) : the trees grow mostly under ground, so when 
fire-wood is needed it must be dug for, and it is 
astonishing what a quantity of large roots are found 
belonging to each small bush. They must be the 
roots of large trees which have been burned down, 
and are now sprouting up once more. Of course 
there are some large trees near the river, but these 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


84 

(principally cotton-wood) are too precious to be cut 
down. The Mexicans economize by climbing a tree 
and cutting off a limb or two as needed ; these, like 
the amputated legs of a lobster, are soon duplicated. 
The whole face of the earth is cut up and sub- 
divided by the numerous azacayas, so that the gar- 
den-walks are ridges, the beds being the depressed 
portions.” 

“ The vineyards must be very beautiful,” said Mrs. 
Ashbur. 

“ Very different from your idea of a vineyard, I dare 
say,” said Dr. McBriar. “ You are thinking of vines 
running over trellises, under which you can walk and 
gather the hanging grapes, whereas the El Paso vine- 
yard is only a field covered with big stumps, from 
which the short vines spring up. But * pretty is as 
pretty does,’ and these stumps give you bushels of 
grapes.” 

“ Did you ever witness a bull-fight, Mrs. Duval ?” 
said Miss Comerford. Do tell us about them.” 
Kate’s roguish dimples showed she was anticipating 
fun from Mrs. Duval’s characteristic mode of descrip- 
tion. 

“They are rather tame affairs at El Paso, Miss 
Kate,” said Captain Duval ; “ the animals are lean, 
spiritless creatures, which require a deal of provoca- 
tion to induce them to show fight, though now and 
then they grow savage and turn on their tormentors, 
and wound a man or kill a horse. My wife refused 
to be present at this popular amusement; but our 
boys can tell you all about it, as well as act the 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


85 

matador, pecador, and the bull. One amusing scene 
we often witnessed, — when the men came into the 
ring on horseback and competed in the task of over- 
throwing taurus by means of twisting his tail, which 
they seize in passing on the gallop.” 

” I suppose you became proficients in the lan- 
guage ?” remarked Mrs. Ashbur. “ Had we re- 
mained on the Rio Grande a year longer, I am sure 
I should have spoken Spanish as easily as my mother- 
tongue.” 

“ Not exactly proficients, but by dint of practice 
and many blunders we made some progress. For 
instance, I never afterward forgot the difference be- 
tween higo and hijo after witnessing the horror of 
the man of whom I asked if he had any hijos (sons) 
for sale, when I only wished to purchase some figs, 
higos. Waters, wishing to acquaint a senorita with 
the interesting fact that he was no casado (not mar- 
ried), told her instead he was no cansado, which means 
not tiresome, — a statement she was, of course, too 
polite to dispute. The two verbs soy and estar, each 
signifying to be, gave us no end of trouble. It 
was rather awkward to find you had been speak- 
ing of some one as bad when you should have 
said sick : es malo means ‘ is bad esta malo, ‘ is 
sick.’ ” 

“There is one verb, however,” remarked Tom 
Heron with a mischievous, one-sided smile, “ which 
Jack Waters learned to perfection : the verb to wade , — 
the Rio Grande understood. A transitive verb, was 
it not. Waters ?” 


8 


86 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


“ Now, Tom, will anything induce you to hold your 
tongue?” exclaimed Mr. Waters, looking uncomfort- 
ably red in the face. 

“Nothing. But I will only tell half; that is, if 
you have no objection to being left in the middle of 
the river.” 

Of course the curiosity of the company was ex- 
cited, and the story followed. 

“You must know,” began Heron, “that one of 
the gallant customs of the greasers is this : when the 
river is to be forded they take their wives, or sweet- 
hearts, on their shoulders, and tote them across. 
Now it so happened that I was too late for the ferry- 
boat one evening, and being determined not to miss 
the baile, I set my wits to work to devise a pass- 
age. I knew that Waters was also behind time, so 
I stepped into a cabin hard by, borrowed a skirt and 
a rebosa, and presto ! became a senorita. I waited 
patiently at the fording-place, where Waters found 
me, about dusk, like Scott’s water nymph, wringing 
my hands, and bemoaning my fate in choice Spanish: 
* Mi marido, who was to have taken me over, had 
been called off, and I should lose the bade' Jack 
can stand anything but a woman’s tears, so off came 
his boots, and he gallantly offered me a seat on his 
stalwart shoulders, apologizing for the want of a 
saddle.” 

“ Come, Tom, there is no use in making me out a 
bigger donkey than I was,” said the big Kentuckian, 
with a patient sigh. 

“ The only ferriage he charged was a kiss. I was 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


87 

awfully afraid I should laugh and betray myself 
before we got over. I bade my native land a last 
adieu. Jack struck up * Jordan is a hard road to 
travely and ambled on through the muddy water, 
while I choked myself to keep from singing, ‘ A life 
on the ocean wave.’ The hearty hug and kiss I 
left him as passage-money, when we got over, fully 
repaid the old fellow.” 

As the laugh subsided his cousin said, “Tom 
Heron, you deserve to be court-martialed. If that 
was not ‘ conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentle- 
man,’ what is ?” 

“ If I had only found out before we landed, such a 
ducking as that htdivy senorita vjowXd have caught! 
Never mind, my turn will come yet.” 

“ It is time,” said Tom, “ for I have twice had 
mine. He knows nothing of the first yet,” he added, 
in a whisper to his aunt. 

“You don’t mean to say you have all this time 
kept that secret!” she rejoined, in an undertone. 
“And Volney, is he still under the old impres- 
sion ?” 

“I do: he is,” said Tom, laconically. “And so 
must remain ; for the complications arising there- 
from when Volney shall join us will be something 
worth witnessing.” 

“ See to it, Tom, that you don’t mix your cousin 
up in any of your complications. But I am sure 
things never really went so far as you led Mrs. Sil- 
vers and myself to believe. I know better than to 
receive all your stories for gospel.” 


88 


ITATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


Tom rolled up his eyes, and said aloud, “ Time 
will show.” 

“ Waters,” said Dr. McBriar, you are about the 
only man who would not have denied that yarn of 
Heron’s ; it is a pretty tough one, and we should 
have taken your word as soon as his.” 

“ I never could see the good of lying to get your- 
self out of a scrape,” replied the phlegmatic Waters. 
“ Our amusements are limited, so I ought not to be- 
grudge you all a laugh at my expense.” 

“ Let me ride behind you, and take Winny in 
your lap. Cousin Tom,” demanded Master Clay 
Ashbur, at the hour of starting next morning. 

” No, Cay ; I shall ride with my own papa,” said 
Winny. And as the will of his little daughter was 
law with’ her father, so it was arranged. 

Mrs. Francisco had died almost a year previous, 
and Mrs. Ashbur, who had three boys and no girls, 
was very glad to keep the little motherless child with 
her, so that her father might still have her near him. 

On the march this day, the new post they were 
about to establish and its proximity to the Indians 
were under discussion. Miss Comerford, whose 
ideas of Indians were chiefly drawn from Cooper’s 
novels and like sources, was rather pleased with the 
prospect of a nearer view of the noble red men, the 
unsophisticated children of nature. 

” I have always thought,” said Kate, “ if I should 

be taken captive by the Indians ” 

Heaven forbid !” ejaculated McBriar, fervently. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


89 

‘‘ I would feign insanity/’ she continued, “ for I 
have read they never injure one so afflicted, be- 
lieving them the special favorites of the Great 
Spirit.” 

“ Do not trust to that, Miss Comerford,” said 
Lieutenant Hawthorn. “ The Comanches, at least, 
are not sufficiently educated to be aware that this is 
one of their characteristics. You have probably 
heard of the man who found the lion so shamefully 
ignorant of natural history that he refused to be 
subdued by the steadfast gaze of the human eye, 
and was so unscientific as to devour his would-be 
mesmerizer.” 

“Then what course should I pursue?” asked Miss 
Kate, quite seriously. 

“Wear a wig or false chignon by all means,” 
laughed Captain Ashbur; “and then. Miss Kate, 
you may be scalped without feeling it.” 

“ I have in my trunk some bright beads and 
little looking-glasses for presents, to gain the 
good-will of the squaws, if they visit our camp in 
amity.” 

“ Let me suggest a few boxes of tobacco as a 
peace-offering,” said Dr. McBriar. “And a lot of 
fine-tooth combs might not come amiss ; that article 
has been termed the national instrument of warfare 
among the Mexicans.” 

“ Your beads and mirrors must be given to the 
braves, not to the squaws,” observed Major Silvers ; 
“ all trinkets, earrings, etc., are worn by the men.” 

“And in this I maintain they only copy after 
8 * 


JiTATE COMERFORD : OR, 


90 

mother Nature. The male birds are the ones adorned 
with the brilliant plumage, while the females are 
modestly arrayed in brown or gray. It is only the 
male woodpecker which sports the cardinal cap,” 
declared Dr. McBriar. 

The march from San Antonio occupied a week, 
and was greatly enjoyed by the ladies. Finding 
one’s self at home every night, with one’s own com- 
fortable bed and table, is a vast improvement on 
the usual routine of travel in the new countries of 
the West. 

Mrs. Duval and Mrs. Ashbur had brought their 
pet goats along in one of the wagons, for the conve- 
nience of the babies, and these miniature cows fur- 
nished milk enough for the coffee and tea of all the 
families. 

When the water was muddy a slice or two of the 
prickly pear served to settle it. And by covering 
the tin canteens with flannel, and suspending them 
from the sides of the ambulances, and keeping the 
covers saturated during the march, the water was 
made cool and palatable. 

Sometimes the Indian guide, or some of the offi- 
cers, were so fortunate as to kill a deer, which was 
welcomed as a pleasant change from the salt pork 
diet. Texas blackbirds, too, were found to be eat- 
able, and * four-and-twenty blackbirds baked into a 
pie’ occasionally appeared on the table. 

One night, Mrs. Ashbur, waking suddenly, was 
frightened to find her husband missing, and to hear 


SKETCHES OF GAFF ISON LIFE. 


91 

a whispering outside the tent ; then followed several 
reports of a gun. 

“ Indians ! murder ! fire !” she cried. “ One, two, 
three, four, — here are all the children !” And just as 
she was rushing out in search of her husband, that 
gentleman appeared at the tent door holding up two 
large wild turkeys in triumph. The poor birds had 
ventured to come down to roost on the convenient 
tents, and this had been their inhospitable reception. 

They had their revenge, however, the dish not 
proving much of a delicacy, for the meat was dry and 
tough, not at all like the wild turkey of Illinois and 
Missouri. 


CHAPTER II. 

The train had at length reached the point de- 
signed as the site of the new post. The officers’ tents 
were pitched on the northern side of a gently sloping 
ridge looking down over a wide-spreading green 
valley, and across the winding brook, with its fringe 
of trees, to the hills beyond. 

In the far distance a glimpse of gray mountains 
gave the needed touch of sublimity to the tranquil 
landscape. 

The prairie all around was diversified and relieved 
by small groves of live-oak and musquite trees, so 
exactly resembling apple and peach orchards as to 
awaken tantalizing memories in this country so de- 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


92 

void of fruit, — if we except the wild grapes and 
plums. 

These frequent groves in the Texas prairies prove 
a grateful relief to the eye, and save one from that 
at sea feeling experienced in passing over the limit- 
less prairies of the West. 

As the tents are now to serve as houses until 
quarters can be erected, the ladies look forward to a 
long sojourn in their Arab dwellings. For stone 
must be quarried, the scrubby timber prepared for 
rafters, etc., flooring, sash, and glass hauled from San 
Antonio, before the canvas roofs are replaced by 
more substantial material. 

So the officers exert their ingenuity in making the 
tents as comfortable as possible for their families. 
And only those who have seen this problem worked 
out can imagine how very comfortable a house with 
canvas walls may be made. 

While on the march a strip of matting or a buf- 
falo robe answers for both floor and carpet. The 
camp bedstead is quickly set up; a keg serves as 
candle-stand; cases for combs, brushes, shoes, etc., 
are buttoned to the canvas walls ; a rope stretching 
from pole to pole does duty as wardrobe ; and, in 
case of a norther^ an oven of live coals furnishes the 
requisite warmth. 

But now things are to be done on a more elaborate 
and permanent scale. Fortunately there was a suffi- 
cient number of hospital tents for the families, who 
had been content with wall tents while on the road. 

No longer depending alone on the tent-poles and 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


93 


pins, frames are now put up over which the canvas 
is stretched; this holds all taut, and prevents the 
billowy motion incident to the tent proper. Then, — 
climax of luxuries ! — a genuine chimney is built; so 
there is now a hearth to the home, surmounted, too, 
by a small unpainted pine mantel-shelf. Canvas 
stretched over a frame of pine, having four small 
panes of glass inserted in the top, is the civilized style 
of door now indulged in, in lieu of the slit in the 
tent side with no fastening except stout strings. As 
a subdued light also finds its way through the walls, 
no other windows are needed. 

Now for the fitting up of the interior. Those officers 
who had purchased for themselves in San Antonio 
plank for flooring put it down, while others, less 
provident, were obliged to content themselves with 
floors of cement. Over these dried moss was first 
laid, and then matting or carpet, for Uncle Sam had 
not seen proper to furnish his “ boys in blue” with 
the luxury of flooring. 

Dr. McBriar was heard grumbling over the stingi- 
ness of a government which could not even furnish 
lumber to make coffins for its defenders. 

“Any man,” said he, “who allows himself the 
pleasure of dying at this post must make up his 
mind to being buried in a couple of pork-barrels.” 

“Nonsense, doctor,” said Major Silvers; “our 
chief at Washington knows what surgeon has charge 
here, and is confident that where McBriar reigns 
cemeteries will become obsolete.” 

“ This shall be Heron’s epitaph,” exclaimed Cap- 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


94 

tain Ashbur, who had tried in vain to check his 
nephew in his intemperate indulgence in smoking: 

“ Here lies the boy so fond of joking : 

Death took him off to stop his smoking. 

His jokes lack salt, — in point were erring ; 

And so we salt him down as Herring R 

Tom, after a little cogitation, returned his uncle’s 
compliment in this \vise : 

“ In this whiskey-barrel lies my Uncle George ; 

May he prove a tough morsel for old Nick to gorge ! 

Of what once gave him valor he here takes the place; 

His spirit’s run out, he has hidden his face. 

He’s not a green gosling; a much tougher bird; 

In wit he compares with King George the Third.” 

“I cry quits, Tom,” said Captain Ashbur, laughing 
heartily. “ But see if I can do honor to Waters’s 
memory : 

“Spilt in this barrel is poor Jack Wafers : 

He’ll reign, as is due, in the hearts of earth’s daughters. 

Leander’s outshone by this valiant rover. 

Who shouldered his hero and waded right over.” 

A few days after this, Mrs. Ashbur, happy to get 
into a tent which would give a little more elbow- 
room, exclaimed to her husband, “ How delightful 
this will be, George ! two good-sized rooms, — bed- 
room and parlor and she looked complacently 
down from her high perch on a pyramid composed 
of a barrel on top of a hogshead, where she was 
busied in hanging and arranging a bright curtain, 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


95 

which was to serve as a partition-wall between the 
rooms. 

Old black Phoebe held steady this rather insecure 
pedestal, while Clay and little Winny made them- 
selves useful handing up tacks and curtain-cords. 

“ Where shall this bureau stand ?” asked her hus- 
band, who was superintending the movements of two 
soldiers as they lifted in the bureau. “ The glass has 
come to grief; so. Aunt Phoebe, you must polish up 
a tin pan and hang it here as a mirror for your Miss 
Agnes. Nothing like invention and philosophy to 
enable us to bear with such little misfortunes.” 

“ Philosophy, indeed !” indignantly spoke the lady. 
“ How am I to know when my collar is pinned 
straight, or my hair parted in the middle? Captain 
Ashbur, you must send for a glass by the very first 
train coming up.” Then she continued : ” Put the 
bureau to the right of the door. No ; facing this 
way. That will do. Isn’t my taste perfect in the 
choice of carpets, George ? I think this one is a real 
work of art. How prettily the colors of the brown 
oak and red maple leaves contrast, and how naturally 
they are scattered over the dull green moss ! even 
the broken twigs are not wanting ; and the border 
of brown logs, with here and there a partridge or 
rabbit peeping out.” 

“A very appropriate design for autumn. For 
winter I suppose you have ordered one representing 
an ice-covered lake, surrounded by snow-fields, with 
a border of icicles.” 

“ George, I believe you have no eye for artistic 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


96 

effects. However, your notion would not be so bad 
for a summer carpet. Imagination might, with the 
aid of that design, cool off a hot summer day.” 

“ Well, thanks to the spirits who preside over 
works of art, here is one which is injured beyond 
restoration. Whatever you may think of my taste, I 
assure you this cherished picture of Pharaoh’s daugh- 
ter has been a trial to me, and here it is utterly de- 
molished. I hope Clay will use the pieces for a kite- 
tail, and so find consolation.” Captain Ashbur had 
considerately spoken in French to avoid wounding 
the feelings of Phoebe and Clay. His wife gave a 
sigh of relief, while the gentleman, with shameless 
duplicity, showing the fragments to his son, cried, 
“ Now isn’t this too bad. Clay ! — your lovely picture 
quite spoiled.” 

After one howl of distress, the boy gathered up the 
wreck, and proposed to Winny to act a play in 
which the princess should be torn to pieces by a 
crocodile in her endeavor to rescue Moses. 

“ Poor ’ittle Moses, he got tore up too,” cried 
Winny. Here’s him poor ’ittle leg.” 

“ Now what is to be done with the high posts of 
this confounded bedstead, unless we slit holes in the 
roof, and let them through like a stack of chimneys ? 
We can’t have it standing in the middle of the tent ; 
and near the wall the ceiling is not high enough. I 
don’t know what you meant by bringing the ridicu- 
lous thing along, Agnes. ” 

“ Why, George, have you forgotten ? I told you 
when we were packing that those great posts would 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


97 

be in the way. But you said, as we had this one it 
was no use going to the expense of buying another,” 
said his wife, who was not one of those meek women 
ever ready to bear the blame of their husbands’ 
faults. 

Mas’ George, if I mought ’spress my ’pinion, I 
don’t see what is to hinder your amputating those 
two posts which has to set circumadjacent to the 
tent wall,” remarked Phoebe, holding the barrel with 
one hand, and wiping her perspiring face with her 
check apron. 

** Sure enough, Phoebe ; two heads are better than 
one, if one — does wear a turban. Drag the posts to 
the door and I will saw them off.” 

While engaged in the act of bedstead surgery, 
Captain Ashbur was surprised by visitors. 

Agnes,” he cried, hurrying back from the door, 
** get down, do ! Here comes Heron, bringing Gen- 
eral Fairfax, the most elegant and punctilious gentle- 
man in the army.” 

Alas ! the notice was too short. Before Mrs. Ash- 
bur could manage to descend, Tom and the general 
had entered. Casting his eye around. Heron espied 
his aunt on high when too late to retreat. With per- 
fect sang froid he went through the ceremony of 
introduction : 

‘‘Aunt Agnes, come down-stairs and allow me to 
introduce you to General Fairfax, an old friend of 
your father. Mrs. Ashbur, general.” 

‘‘ Nothing more natural,” said the gallant old gen- 
tleman, bowing low, “than to find Venus in the 

E ^ 9 


g3 KATE COMERFORD; OR, 

ascendant, or St. Agnes looking down upon us 
sinners.” 

At this auspicious moment the top of the barrel 
gave way suddenly, and the fair St. Agnes disap- 
peared from mortal view. But immediately coming 
into sight again, — at least displaying a bust view 
above her barrel envelope, — she waved her hand and 
bowed to her guest : 

General Fairfax can see I am highly delighted to 
welcome him, and hope soon to meet him on a more 
equal footing.” 

“ Beauty is never more welcome than after a brief 
eclipse,” rejoined the general. 

Heron, assisted by Phoebe, had by this time lifted 
the barrel over the lady’s head, and helped her to 
descend from the hogshead. Captain Ashbur being 
powerless between confusion and amusement. 

^'Ora pro me, St. Agnes,” whispered Tom, as his 
aunt gave him a pinch as he landed her on the floor, 
“ My aunt is greatly indebted to this accident for the 
pleasant sensation of being looked up to by an officer 
of such distinction.” 

Camp-chairs were produced, and soon the party 
were conversing like old friends. Mrs. Ashbur 
whispered a few words to Clay, who left the room, 
and soon after Cindy entered with a tray of biscuit 
and wine. The wine-glasses having in the move 
shared the fate of the mirror (a misfortune which 
Captain Ashbur, by the way, did not bear quite so 
philosophically as the former), tea-cups were sub- 
stituted. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


99 


“ This is the ancient and orthodox article for this 
purpose,” remarked General Fairfax. ‘‘The wine- 
cup, the wine-cup bring hither !” 

For some days after settling at the new post, 
which had been christened Fort Fairfax, the ladies 
were all too busy arranging their furniture (and even 
in manufacturing it) to spend time in visiting. After 
the carpenter had put shelves in the packing-boxes, 
the busy hands of the ladies covered the boxes neatly 
with glazed calico, tacked on a curtain for a door, 
and thus made sideboards, bookcases, and ward- 
robes. A smaller box set on end and thus finished 
off, with the addition of a bit of oil-cloth on top to 
represent the marble slab, was made to do duty 
as wash-stand. 

In course of time a dining-room and kitchen built 
of upright logs, in Mexican style, were added to each 
establishment. 

Of the half-dozen rush-bottom chairs with which the 
Ashburs had left San Antonio, three were smashed in 
a collision of wagons on the road. Mrs. Duval com- 
plained that the mules had lunched off of the seats 
of her chairs, as they hung temptingly behind the 
wagon. Mrs. Silvers, who, being an old campaigner, 
had brought along nothing but camp-stools which 
could be folded and packed in small compass, now 
went to work to help her neighbors in weaving list 
bottoms for their chairs. 

Lieutenant Waters made himself popular among 
the ladies by constructing most comfortable seats 
out of half-barrels, sawing them down so as to leave 


100 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


a hollowed-out back and embracing arms, and then 
weaving a bottom of rope. These frames when 
cushioned and covered with chintz proved to be 
the ne plus ultra of an easy-chair. 

Directly in front of Major Silvers’s tent grew a 
good-sized oak-tree, or perhaps we should rather 
say his tent was pitched just behind the tree. To 
the limbs he swung his hammock, and here enjoyed 
his pipe and the view of the valley below, in which 
the soldiers were busy constructing a brush fence in 
preparation for early gardening next spring. 

Clay Ashbur, Winny Francisco, and little George, 
usually followed by Cindy with the baby in her arms, 
lived out of doors, gathering flowers, fishing with 
crooked pins, or picking up the coral-like seed of 
the lignum-vitoe tree for beads and marbles. 

Mrs. Duval’s pretty Irish nurse, Nora, leading 
Miss Cecelia and carrying little Antonio, was also 
frequently of the party; and Corporal O’Brian, 
when off duty, not infrequently managed to meet 
them in their wanderings. 

A little beyond the top of the ridge, on the north 
side of which stood the tents of the officers, and 
therefore directly south of these tents, was the chosen 
site for the quarters, and preparations for building 
went busily forward. The quartermaster. Lieutenant 
Waters, and his men were at work on the founda- 
tions. But the first buildings erected were store- 
houses built of logs. At a little distance to the west 
the sutler made haste to put up his two-roomed store. 

The hospital was, as is usual, to be the first sub- 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


lOI 


stantial building finished. Then would follow the 
soldiers’ quarters. So the prospect for anything 
better than tents for the officers was distant indeed. 

Miss Comerford, charmed with the novelty of this 
nomadic life, was as busy as a dozen bees, making 
her father comfortable and learning to keep tent, as 
she called her housekeeping. Tom declared that his 
cousin tried a different receipt every day, and the 
colonel would soon have to send for another supply 
of cookery-books. In his cage, hanging from the 
front tent-pole, climbed and screamed the gray par- 
rot with his red top-knot, the birthday gift of Lieu- 
tenant Hawthorn. 

Paul Volney’s little dog, Jose, constantly followed 
his mistress about the house when she failed to carry 
him on her arm or in her pocket. 

The gentle armadillo had long ago shuffled off his 
mortal coil — or shell ; but the vase-shaped basket 
presented by Captain Rubenstein graced the table in 
Kate’s sitting-room. The stand on which the basket 
stood, by the way, was a piece of home-made furni- 
ture, fashioned, indeed, by Kate^s own hands. Two 
circular boards, fitted on at each end of a three-foot 
pole, formed a frame, over which she had tacked blue 
cambric under white muslin, drawn together in the 
centre of the pole in hour-glass shape. 

The giver of the basket — the spruce little blonde 
widower — could not (greatly to his regret) be sta- 
tioned at this post, belonging, as he did, to the artil- 
lery, that arm of the service not being called for at 
Fort Fairfax. 


9 ' 


102 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


Several new officers, however, had joined since the 
regiment left Knoctin Barracks, and, among others, 
one who had failed to make so favorable an impression 
on the ladies or his fellow-officers as he probably 
believed himself to have done. 

His name was Boswell, which is about all that was 
known of him. Having exchanged into the Twelfth 
from another regiment, the officers were quite igno- 
rant of his antecedents. 

Mr. Boswell’s manners were gentlemanly, his in- 
telligence above the average ; but there was wanting 
that genial frankness and ^r^?///^Hiness which emi- 
nently characterized the members of the Twelfth. 

Miss Kate confided to her cousin Tom that she 
detected a sinister cast or expression of the eye; 
but on being pressed by mischievous Tom for an 
exact explanation of the term sinister, could only 
reply, “ Oh, you know perfectly well what I mean.” 

Hawthorn had become marked in his attentions to 
the beautiful daughter of his commanding officer; 
Dr. McBriar also, in his clumsy way, tried to win 
her favor ; while Lieutenant Waters, indignant at 
what he considered Kate’s unjustifiable coquetry, did 
his best in his friend’s behalf by trying to rout them 
both. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


103 


CHAPTER III. 

“ Mother, mother, the Indians have come !” 
shouted Clay Ashbur, running into the house one 
day when they had been living some weeks at Fort 
Fairfax without having seen a red man. 

“ Hide me, mudder !” screamed curly-headed little 
George. “ Dey get my stalp.” 

“ Shame on you, St. George ; you will never kill 
the dragon !” said his brother. “ These Indians have 
not come to fight. Major Silvers says they have 
come to smoke the tomahawk of peace and bury 
the pipe of , war.” 

“ And they are not red at all,” cried Winny, in an 
aggrieved tone ; just brown, like our Cindy.” The 
child had evidently pictured to herself the red men 
with faces of brilliant scarlet. 

The Indians had come to beg a great deal and 
trade a little, and had brought with them their 
squaws and pappooses, whose chief business it was to 
steal at every ghost of an opportunity. Their en- 
campment was in sight, but at some little distance 
beyond the brook which meandered through the 
green prairie on the other side of the extensive lawn 
and garden plots lying at the foot of the slope on 
which stood the officers’ tents. 

The Comanche chiefs came into the garrison in 
full dress, though not in war paint. Earrings and 


104 


/CATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


breastplates of large sea- shells (which had probably 
been obtained by traffic with the tribes dwelling near 
the Pacific), heads decorated with hawk-feathers, 
abundance of bead-embroidery on their buckskin 
garments, and the gracefully-draped blanket made 
up their court-dress. The blanket is as indispensable 
to an Indian’s toilet as the cloak to the Spaniard’s or 
the stove-pipe hat to the Englishman’s. 

The long black hair of the men was worn braided 
in one queue down the back, in many cases spliced 
out with a horse-tail to reach the desired length. 
These long braids were ornamented by pieces of 
silver, beginning with one the size of a small saucer 
and gradually tapering down to a five-cent piece. 
The women displayed no ornaments, and wore their 
hair short. 

“ They are an ugly-looking set, take them at the 
best, especially the women,” said Mrs. Silvers ; “ and 
I fail to perceive that dignity and sternness so asso- 
ciated with our ideas of their race. Whatever other 
tribes may be like, the Comanches resemble a set 
of good-natured mulattoes.” 

“ I thought Indians seldom even smiled, and just 
hear how those undignified creatures are laughing,” 
said Miss Comerford, whose preconceived notions of 
the red men were fast dissolving. 

Colonel Comerford, wishing to purchase a riding- 
horse for his daughter, was somewhat astonished 
that Yellow Wolf refused to bargain and generously 
offered the pony as a gift. 

“ Me big chief, you big chief. Me make present 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


105 

you of horse; you make present me one seventy 
dollar. Uh !” 

This was nearly double the value of the pony, as 
Mr. Yellow Wolf, who was something of a fox, well 
knew. So likewise did the colonel, and yet this 
speech was made with an air so innocent, such 
evident contempt of bargaining between two such 
exalted characters, that the white man was betrayed 
into giving his consent before he had time for second 
thought. After this the commander at Fort Fairfax 
positively, though politely, declined all gifts from 
these unsophisticated children of nature. 

Miss Comerford had the honor of entertaining 
the medicine man during a long morning call, and to 
pass the time allowed him to look over her hand- 
some volume of illustrations from Scott’s novels. 
Hawthorn’s Spanish (a smattering of which language 
these Indians have), together with a few Indian words 
which he had picked up, enabled him to act as in- 
terpreter. The red M.D. was highly delighted with 
the engravings, and made the modest request that 
some half-dozen which particularly struck his fancy 
should be cut out and given to him. In return he 
offered the white squaw, or Gold-headed Pigeon^ as he 
poetically christened Miss Kate, a wonderful charm 
made of a sea-shell cut into the shape of a heart. 
This amulet would secure for the wearer the affection 
of her favorite brave^ and absolutely exterminate all 
her rivals. 

Gold-headed Pigeon declined to sacrifice ** Coeur 
de Lion and the Disguised Prince of Scotland,” 


I 06 JiTATE COMERFORD; OR, 

“ Queen Elizabeth and Amy Robsart,” Caleb 
Balderstone in the Act of Stealing the Roast Goose 
from the Spit for his Master’s Breakfast,” and the 
Duel Scene between King Charles and Everhard 
in Woodstock Park,” all of which were coveted by 
this art-loving Indian. 

And the interpreter was indignant that even a wild 
Comanche should be so blind as to presume that this 
lady had need of other charms than those so bounti- 
fully bestowed on her by nature. 

Next evening the officers took their wives behind 
them, riding-horses being scarce, and rode by moon- 
light down the grassy slope and across the brook 
to the Indian encampment. 

As her father would not let her try the new horse 
by night, Kate had accepted a seat behind her 
cousin, to whom she was forced to cling with both 
arms as his horse went dancing down the hill. 

“ Don’t hug so tight, Kate,” laughed Tom; “you 
squeeze the breath out of a fellow,” as he spurred 
the horse to a leap over the stream. 

The pale-faces had taken this ride by night in 
order to witness an Indian dance. This was not to 
be a war-dance, but one in honor of some great 
chief who had gone to the happy hunting-ground. 

Twenty or thirty Comanches massed in a compact 
crowd, with their musician in the centre performing 
on the primitive instrument of a gourd filled with 
pebbles, and all joining their voices in a monotonous 
“Yah! yah I” kept time by hopping up and down, 
seldom changing places. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


107 


Now and then the music (?) swelled into a mourn- 
ful howl, and occasionally one of the dancers, over- 
come by his feelings, — or something stronger, — 
would fall back in a sort of swoon, and be carried 
out of the ring by his friends. This part of the per- 
formance and the shouting reminded Captain Ashbur 
of scenes he had witnessed, when a boy, at a Meth- 
odist camp-meeting. 

“ I scarcely think that this style of music in a 
man’s soul would necessarily unfit him for treason, 
stratagem, and spoil,” remarked Mr. Hawthorn. 

“ No music, not even the lofty strains of Yankee 
Doodle, has yet had that effect on the Comanches,” 
said Major Silvers. 

“ How sad the thought that all these little children 
— and pretty creatures they are — should be unbap- 
tized !” said Kate Comerford, who, during her con- 
vent life, had become a Catholic, greatly to Mrs. 
Silvers’s delight. 

“ Have the poor creatures any religion of their 
own, — the grown-up Indians, I mean ?” inquired 
Mrs. Ashbur. Or has any effort been made to 
Christianize them ?” 

Not likely,” said Dr. McBriar, “when we care 
apparently so little for our religion as to live like 
heathen, with never a chaplain at one post in ten. 
That Indians may be made Christians is proved by 
the civilized and Catholic tribes living at and around 
El Paso. They are better people than the Mexicans. 
One beautiful and pious custom among them we 
witnessed as regularly as Christmas came around. 


I 08 KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 

On Christmas eve they scale the mountains and 
kindle bonfires, which burn all night in honor of the 
birth of our Lord.” 

” I always admire these out-of-door religious ob- 
servances practised in Catholic countries,” continued 
the doctor. “ Our religion never thinks of straying 
beyond the church-door. That man who should 
take his faith so to heart as to erect a wayside shrine 
would be thought too childish, and yet we must be- 
come as little children.” 

“ My dealings with the Indians,” remarked the 
guide, who happened to be of the party, “ has been 
sich as to raise a doubt whether they carries sich 
things as souls about ’em. Them souls is but small 
potatoes which don’t projuce gratitude enough to 
keep ther hands out of your pockets while you are 
in the act of feeding ’em. The highest flight of 
nobleness I ever hearn of among ’em was the chief 
that preferred death to captivity, and actually had 
the grace to kill hisself as well as his squaw and 
child rather than be held prisoners. That man was 
the most civilized Injun / ever met with. His con- 
duct rather shuck my settled belief that they were all 
evil spirits and made by the devil.” 

This man had lost a wife and also his twin-brother 
at the hands of these savages, and was bitterly op- 
posed to any amicable relations being established 
between them and the whites. 

My old mother,” he continued, used to tell me, 
when she were scrubbing of me up of a Saturday 
night, that cleanliness was near akin to godliness. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


109 

Now, on that showin’, these dirty creturs is a long 
shot removed from heaven. And it is my private 
opinion, publicly expressed, that they had best be 
left to wallow in the mire. You can’t touch pitch 
with your dainty hands, miss,” turning, as he spoke, 
to Miss Comerford, “ and be ondefiled.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

Among the officers who had joined the Twelfth 
since the sojourn of our friends at Knocktin was 
Lieutenant Brown, who had a very pretty little wife, — 
a lady more noted, however, for her love of admira- 
tion than for more desirable qualities. She was very 
sprightly, and seemed desirous of sharing with Miss 
Comerford the attentions of the young gentlemen. 
Failing in the attempt to draw off the devotion of 
Mr. Hawthorn, the lady consoled herself by getting 
up something which savored entirely too much of a 
flirtation with Mr. Boswell. Walks and rides and 
readings — Boswell was an accomplished reader — 
threw these two together oftener than was, to say the 
least, in good taste. Of this a word farther on. 

Mrs. Silvers, assisted by Miss Comerford, deter- 
mined to gather the children of the soldiers (who were 
running wild and growing up with little more knowl- 
edge of the teachings of their religion than so many 
prairie-dogs) into a kind of school, to which the 
10 


no 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


ladies would devote at least two hours of each 
morning. 

Mrs. Ashbur and Mrs. Duval begged that their 
small flocks might be admitted (even at the risk of 
their becoming Catholics), for it was understood that 
in this school the children were especially drilled in 
the rudiments of that faith. Tom Heron said that 
the ladies followed the style of the ancient philoso- 
phers in holding their seances out of doors. 

Weather permitting, as it usually did, the shade 
of the oak-tree in front of Mrs. Silvers’s door, or the 
lignum vitce grove by the side of Colonel Comer- 
ford’s tent, with the children seated on the grass, 
were the walks of these professors. 

When the children had been sufficiently drilled, it 
was a sweet and touching thing to hear their clear 
voices in hymns of praise floating over the wild 
prairie, where only the whoop of the savage or howl 
of the wolf had been heard before. 

On Sundays it at length became a habit with the 
ladies to visit the families of the soldiers and read 
with them the gospel of the day and say the Litany 
or the rosary. The Catholic soldiers, mostly Irish 
or German, gladly assembled to listen and join in 
these devotions. And it was amusing to see a class 
of bearded and rough-looking men standing in a 
row to answer the catechism questions with the 
children. 

Some bon-bons distributed among the little ones, 
and books of travel, biography, and well-chosen 
novels given to the men, helped to make these meet- 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


Ill 


ings a welcome break in the monotony of garrison 
life. 

Mr. Hawthorn, who was half a Catholic, easily 
persuaded himself that it was his duty to act as es- 
cort to the ladies and occasional assistant in these 
Sunday exercises. And Mr. Waters, though a 
staunch Presbyterian, felt it incumbent on him to be 
present, to make sure that his brother-officer smug- 
gled not Cupid into the fold in guise of a cherub. 

While the others were saying the rosary, Waters 
tried to avoid any participation in the Aves by 
preaching to himself long sermons on the doctrines 
of predestination and total depravity, heartily wish- 
ing Volney would come along to look after his own 
affairs. On once venturing to make some delicate 
suggestion as to what Volney’s opinion might be 
concerning the frequent presence of Hawthorn by 
her side, he was met with such a look of blank aston- 
ishment from Miss Kate as left him no wish to inter- 
fere again in that direction. 

In these Sunday meetings Corporal O’Brien and 
pretty Nora Ryan read from the same book, and 
their rich voices sounded in charming unison in the 
hymns, the brogue not interfering in the least with 
the harmony. If a suspicion of earthly love crept 
into their devotions, let us hope they were forgiven. 

Even denser ignorance than had been supposed 
possible was discovered to exist among nominal 
Catholics. 

One man reckoned desertion from the army as 
one of the seven deadly sins. Another thought the 


II2 


KATE COMERFORD; ORy 


present year was reckoned from the time of the 
flood, and was corrected by a bright boy, who 
broached the novel idea that we reckoned time from 
the discovery of America by George Washington ! 

The cardinal virtues Master Clay Ashbur natu- 
rally supposed to be virtues peculiar to the cardinals, 
while Gustavus Duval had managed to get the fall 
of the angels and the Falls of Niagara so inextricably 
entangled that it was impossible to find where one 
began or the other left off. The fall of Adam, too, 
was imagined to be a sudden descent from the tree 
from which he was plucking the forbidden fruit. 

As the evenings lengthened, little social reunions, 
with music, dancing, or the next best method of in- 
nocent relaxation, — plays and charades, — helped to 
make pleasant the life at this far-away post. 

“Mr. Volney has arrived, do you know?” said 
Mrs. Silvers to her friend, Mrs. Ashbur, as the two, 
preceded by the flock of children, were walking pver 
the prairie near sunset, stopping now and then to 
gather flowers. 

“Yes, and at a most inopportune time. He will 
be ready to welcome the returning fishing-party. We 
must manage to undeceive him at the earliest oppor- 
tunity; if, indeed, he is under any delusion. I some- 
times think Mr. Volney knows very well that his 
marriage was prevented. Tom has probably been 
merely hoaxing us into believing the deception was 
carried out. It is too incredible. But here he 


comes. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


II3 

“Welcome to the wilderness, Mr. Volney,” said 
Mrs. Silvers, shaking hands. “ I hope you are not 
sorry to join us again, though, from the present state 
of affairs,” pointing towards the buildings in progress, 
“ it will be a long time before we can sing ‘ Out of 
the Wilderness.’ ” 

“ The ladies of the Twelfth would make any wil- 
derness blossom like the rose,” was the gallant reply. 
“ And I shall expect to find manna and all other de- 
sirable things here. But how happens it that this 
fishing-party has been so imprudent as to venture to 
such a distance? We recognized traces of hostile 
Indians, on our way up from San Antonio, between 
this and Fort Mason.” 

“ Oh, there can be no danger. Of course the gen- 
tlemen went armed, and, I think, also took a small 
escort,” was Mrs. Ashton’s reply. “ Here they come 
now, and in some disorder.” 

Mrs. Brown, indeed, was supported as she rode by 
her husband’s arm. Mrs. Duval, also, was very pale 
as she dismounted, and she embraced her children, 
who flew to meet her, in silence. 

Lieutenant Waters, it is true, hurried up with his 
usual good-natured smile to welcome his old friend. 
But Captain Ashbur, with merely a nod to his wife, 
and a hurried “ Glad to see you, Volney,” galloped 
on to meet Colonel Comerford, who was seen ap- 
proaching from the direction of the buildings on the 
hill*. 

As the rest of the fishing-party came up it was 
observed that Lieutenant Boswell looked sulky, Dr. 

h 10* 


/STATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


1 14 

McBriar half angry, while Hawthorn, who was talk- 
ing earnestly as he rode by the side of Miss Comer- 
ford, certainly carried his arm in a sling. Something 
had evidently gone wrong. 

“ What has happened, doctor ?” asked Mrs. Ash- 
bur. But that gentleman hastily shook hands with 
Volney and rode on, paying no sort of attention to 
the lady’s question. 

“ Mr. Waters, can you tell us the meaning of all 
this?” exclaimed Mrs. Silvers, impatiently, as she 
laid a detaining hand on his arm. Or is it your 
role to disappear in grim silence like the rest? Why, 
this is like a troubled dream, in which all the shadows 
vanish when addressed. You are worse than a com- 
pany of ghosts, for they do speak when spoken to.” 

” Ladies, I am not at all anxious to vanish from 
your presence, for the next thing is I must stand in 
the august presence of our comandante , and I would 
cheerfully walk ten miles to avoid him in his pres- 
ent humor. You two, who wisely stayed at home on 
this unlucky day, must relinquish all hope of join- 
ing in any future fishing-excursion. The colonel 
will never again trust us half a mile from the post. 
I am sure I feel as if I ought never to be trusted with 
firearms again.” 

“ Mr. Waters, if you do not come to the point at 
once and tell us a straight story, we shall begin to 
suspect you have been trusted with more than your 
share of ^x^-water to-day,” retorted Mrs. Ashbur. 

” Don’t be so unkind, my dear madam. I am 
fasting from all save sin. It is hard on a fellow to 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


II5 

have to report, in presence of ladies, an engagement 
in which all the blame rests with the commissioned 
and all the laurels have been toted off by the non- 
commissioned officer. 

“ Tired out with too much success in fishing (for 
the stupid catfish in that stupid stream were as stu- 
pid as we have been, and as easily caught napping), 
Mrs. Brown, to vary the exercises, — and, by the way, 
she is a good shot, and never ” 

“ Hangs fire, as you do,” said Mrs. Ashbur, with a 
sigh of resignation. 

“ Well,” resumed Waters, “ Mrs. Brown proposed 
shooting at a mark. She had abstracted her hus- 
band’s pistol from his pocket while he was baiting 
her hook ; and we all followed her lead, climbing the 
bank and walking some rods from the top of it be- 
fore we found a tree to make a target of, leaving 
only Ashbur and Francisco, who were busy trying 
to tire out an immense catfish they had hooked by 
racing up and down the bank with him ; for if you 
attempt to land one of these cats too soon, snap will 
go your line ” 

“ That is exactly what our long-tried patience has 
done,” groaned Mrs. Silvers. 

“After exhausting her revolver,” he continued, 
without noticing the interruption, “ and — but I won’t 
stop to tell how often she hit the bull’s-eye ” 

“ For which omission receive our heartfelt thanks,” 
interpolated Mrs. Ashbur. 

“ Mrs. Brown next demanded Boswell’s, who (fool 
that he is) made no demur. Mrs. Duval and Miss 


Il6 JiTATE COMERFORD ; ORy 

Kate now entered the lists. Hawthorn, I will do 
him the justice to say, refused at first to yield his 
gun, and was only overcome at last by the bewitch- 
ing smiles and beseeching eyes of Miss Kate. (She 
is enough to distract any man ; and what right has 
she to be playing the witch in that direction ?j” The 
last remark was in a subdued parenthesis, but was 
caught by Mrs. Ashbur, who glanced uneasily at her 
friend. Still, both were too eager to discover what 
had occurred on the fishing-ground to go into an 
explanation of the affair at Knocktin. 

“ Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Duval now made a raid on 
McBriar, who stoutly refused to give up his loaded 
gun. 

Where is the danger?’ sneered Boswell. ‘You 
will still have your lancet for defence against the 
mosquitoes.’ 

“ ‘ There is, perhaps, but one chance in fifty of In- 
dians turning up,’ said McBriar, with a glance of 
contempt at the other, ‘ but I do not choose to trust 
too much to the nine-and-forty. We are not a set of 
school-boys, to be led by the nose by the (beg pardon, 
ladies) weaker sex.’ 

“Upon this Mrs. Brown grew more determined 
to have that gun by fair means or foul. 

“ Oh, I forgot to acknowledge that, after denying 
I had a pistol about me, I had allowed the ladies to 
tease me out of mine after Miss Kate suggested I 
was more afraid of Indians than she was. Big goose 
that I was, I was actually ridiculed out of acting with 
common sense. Mrs. Brown, after begging in vain 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


II7 

that the doctor would give us a specimen of his own 
skill, slyly hinted that, perchance, a gun was less 
familiar in his hand than some other blood-letting 
instruments. This piqued the old gentleman, who 
is a capital shot, into raising the gun to his shoulder. 
But her look of triumph recalled his wits, and he 
lowered without discharging it. The next move of 
this fair strategist was to be taken by the beauty of 
the silver mounting of the piece and ask to see it 
more closely. This proved too much for even the 
surgeon’s prudence; vanity prevailed, and the lady 
was permitted to touch the gun. 

“ Presto ! that gun changed hands, and was actu- 
ally pointed at its owner when he made a motion to 
seize it ! Then, aiming at the tree — crack ! crack ! 
went both barrels. The rage of McBriar when Mrs. 
Brown smilingly returned his gun was awful. Should 
she ever fall sick, she won’t be treated to homoeo- 
pathic doses ! Boswell, in the mean time, had de- 
manded of Corporal O’Brien, who stood at a little 
distance watching the shooting, a musket on which 
he was leaning. O’Brien respectfully declined yield- 
ing it. ‘ How dare you refuse, fellow ?’ cried Bos- 
well, with clenched teeth. ‘ Sir,’ said the sol- 
dier, ‘ I have a sneaking notion that it is not pru- 
dent at all, at all, to lave the ladies definseless, as it 
ware.’ 

“ ^ What right have you to set yourself up as wiser 
than your superiors?’ and as the man took a step 
backward, still grasping the gun, Boswell, red in 
the face with passion, raised his riding-whip as if 


Ilg KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 

to Strike. O’Brien lifted his left arm to ward off 
the blow. 

‘‘Just at this critical moment we were startled by a 
stamping of hoofs and a sharp cry from Hawthorn^ 
who threw himself in front of Miss Kate, — not a 
second too soon either, for the arrow that might 
have killed her struck his left arm. 

“ O’Brien dashed forward and discharged both bar- 
rels at the Indians, for not less than seven of the 
devils were in sight. Of course they had been 
watching us, and hoped we had exhausted our am- 
munition, or at least would not have time to reload. 
So you see O’Brien’s shot was all that saved us ; for 
though Brown and I sprang on our horses crying 
‘ Charge !’ our empty guns would not have fright- 
ened the savages. Mrs. Duval acted like a soldier’s 
wife : she pointed her gun at the enemy instead of 
fainting away. 

“ Francisco and Ashbur now came running to the 
rescue, but the savages, who seldom risk their pre- 
cious skins in fair fight, had turned tail and were out 
of sight.” 

“ Where was my nephew, Tom Heron, all this 
while?” inquired Mrs. Ashbur. 

“ Heron brought up the rear of the reinforcement, 
and it is my belief that he was using his toes for bait 
in a new style of fishing, for he ran up the bank with 
one boot in his hand. 

“ He says he had stepped upon a bunch of cactus, 
and was trying to ease the sting of the nettles by a 
mud-poultice. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


II9 

“ Boswell swears he will have O’Brien broken for 
raising his gun on an officer. But Kate says she 
can testify that the soldier raised the left arm and 
grasped the gun with the right. 

“ We have persuaded Boswell to let the matter drop ; 
but if black looks mean anything, O’Brien had best 
take care of himself. That man will not easily for- 
give a soldier who adds to the crime of resisting his 
sovereign will the offence of proving himself the 
wiser man.” . 

Thus ended Mr. Waters’s long-drawn-out narration. 

It may here be mentioned that Mr. Volney’s greet- 
ing of Miss Comerford after their long separation had 
been both grave and embarrassed, while the young 
lady scarcely blushed and seemed preoccupied. 
Waters wondered which stood first in her thoughts 
at that moment, the man to whom she had given her 
hand (as he believed) or the one who had just saved 
her life. 

Volney certainly experienced a pang of jealousy and 
felt that Hawthorn had usurped his rights, including 
the right to get wounded in her cause. 

Only his failure to secure an honorable part in the 
day’s exploit and the pain in his foot kept Heron’s 
enjoyment of the beginning of the complications and 
blunders within bounds. 

That very evening all the fishermen of the day 
were summoned to the august presence of their 
angry superior officer, where they stood looking 
like truant schoolboys as he paced the floor and 
gave vent to his displeasure : 


120 


Ji^ATE COMERFORD; OR, 


“ A pretty set I have about me to be trusted with 
the protection of women! It is no fault of yours 
that my daughter is not a corpse and Brown and 
Duval widowers. It looks as if they were anxious 
to be rid of their wives. 

“ A sweet report I shall have to make at head- 
quarters of our first brush with the Indians I The 
Twelfth will become noted for prudence and valor! 
You deserve, one and all, to be reduced to the ranks, 
and if I had my way, one of the set at least should be 
made to change coats with O’Brien.” This last with 
a look at Boswell, which that gentleman set down to 
O’Brien’s credit. 

The colonel went on to remark that the soldier 
was the only one of the party with sense enough to 
keep firearms out of the hands of women, and he 
even mumbled something to himself about doubting 
“ whether the others had enough to keep their fin- 
gers out of the fire.” He was heard quite distinctly 
to advise his officers to give up the profession of 
girms and take to fishing for a livelihood. 

“ Och, thin,” said Heron aside, who cared little for 
his own share of the blame in seeing older officers 
snubbed, sure, we are only bate by O’Brien.” 

“ Lieutenant Hawthorn, you richly deserve more 
than you got for yielding your judgment to a 
woman’s smiles. However,” added the colonel, 
turning quickly on his heel and taking Hawthorn’s 
sound hand, “ I thank you with all my heart for 
saving the life of my child.” As he spoke, tears 
stood in the father’s eyes. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


I2I 


Corporal O’Brien was called in and questioned as 
to how he came to set up his judgment in opposition 
to his superiors : 

“ What reason had you to suspect danger?” 

” To sphake truth, colonel, it was all owing to a 
drame Nora Ryan had sint her, moreover,” said the 
man. 

“A dream?” exclaimed the bewildered colonel; 
and who, pray, is this Nora who dreams to such 
good purpose ?” 

She is the natest and handsomest lass this side 
of Quid Erin, she is. She begged me to kape me 
eyes about me the day, for she had a moighty ugly 
drame intirely of seeing Miss Kate in her weddin’- 
robe and veil ; and that, you know, colonel, signifies 
death.” 

” I know nothing of the sort, you donkey. So it 
was faith in dreams and not a soldier-like foresight 
which prompted your action. You shall have a ser- 
geant’s straps all the same. Now march !” 


F 


II 


122 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


CHAPTER V. 

Mrs. Silvers, Mrs. Duval, and Mrs. Ashbur were 
sitting next morning in Mrs. Ashbur’s front room. 
A norther had sprung up in the night, and was still 
blowing, making the fire which glowed on the hearth 
and was reflected by the small brass andirons and 
fender very comfortable. 

The ladies looked grave and troubled. Mrs. Duval 
remarked : 

“This imprudence, to give it no harsher title, must 
be brought to a termination ere too late. We must 
endeavor to rescue our erring sister before she takes 
that one step which can never be retraced.” 

“ So I say,” assented Mrs. Silvers. “ When a mar- 
ried woman so far forgets her dignity as to flirt 
openly with a young man, and then puts the finish- 
ish touch to matters by casting herself into his arms 
to faint when her husband’s were just as handy, as 
you say Mrs. Brown did yesterday, why it is high 
time she was taken in hand and brought to a sense 
of propriety.” 

Then spoke Mrs. Ashbur : 

“ Our regiment has never been disgraced by a breath 
of scandal attaching to any of our ladies, and we owe it 
to ourselves to preserve its honor. In general society 
we can easily drop a woman who forgets the respect 
due her sex for the sake of attracting the admiration 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


123 


of fops, or who ventures on these slippery ways 
through sheer thoughtlessness and want of some- 
thing to engage her mind, if such women can be 
truly said to have any minds. But in army life we 
are so thrown together that we are obliged to be as 
intimate as sisters. So Mrs. Brown must be plainly 
told that we cannot permit her to compromise us.” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Silvers, “we can simply say 
to her, should she refuse to listen to our remon- 
strances, that she must choose at once between Mr. 
Boswell’s flattery and our esteem. For, in this in- 
stance, we have the power in our own hands, and 
can prevent mischief by threatening to have nothing 
more to do with her.” 

“ What can possess women supposed to be ladies 
to show such lack of delicacy, — to risk so much !” 
exclaimed Mrs. Ashbur. “ I am sometimes tempted 
to think they are actually possessed by evil spirits. 
Does it come from too much novel-reading? In 
many books of fiction such things are treated en- 
tirely too much as matters of course. And hero- 
ines are permitted to go dancing along as near the 
edge of a dizzy precipice as possible, and the writers 
seem to think that all is well so they escape going 
over.” 

“ Another cause may be found in the fact that in- 
stead of frowning down the incipient stages of these 
flirtations, women usually content themselves with 
animadversions on such behavior in private, and yet 
continue to countenance these imprudent ones by 
associating with them,” said Mrs. Silvers. “ I really 


124 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


believe it is altogether vanity and thoughtlessness in 
Mrs. Brown ; she is thinking of no harm.” 

That afternoon, when Mrs. Ashbur had no one 
except Kate Comerford with her, who always felt as 
much at home here and with Mrs. Silvers as in her 
own father’s house, they were suddenly interrupted 
in their conversation on the subject of the fishing- 
party, Kate’s narrow escape, and the coming of Mr. 
Volney by Tom Heron’s appearance. 

“ Come, Aunt Agnes ! if you and Cousin Kate 
want to see fun, just follow me, and you shall witness 
the comedy of ‘ Infantry on Horseback.’ A scouting- 
party is to be dispatched after our late visitors, and 
half of the men never put leg over a horse before, it 
is safe to say. I am detailed for this scout, and we 
shall soon teach these Comanches not to intrude on 
our picnics without a special invitation.” 

The ladies were soon ready for the walk to the 
place where the riding-school^ as Tom called it, was 
held. 

The scene was sufficiently amusing. Most of the 
men approached a horse with the utmost caution, as 
if stalking a deer, apparently thinking that he must 
by no means discover their intention of mounting 
until they were safe in the saddle. Several mounted 
from the wrong side, while one original fellow climbed 
up from behind, or, as he termed it, boarded his 
craft from the stern.” 

“Where is. that man leading his horse?” cried 
Lieutenant Volney, who was superintending this 
prairie circus and had been appointed to take com- 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


125 

mand of the expedition, much to the chagrin of the 
fishermen. This honor was awarded him simply 
because he had fiot formed one of that wise party. 

The soldier alluded to had now reached a stump, 
and, thus assisted, managed to scramble up. 

'‘You ninny!” called out Volney, half laughing, 
“ do you propose to carry that stump along with 
you, or do you expect to find stumps strewn along 
the prairie for your benefit whenever you may catch 
a tumble ?” 

“ No, lieutenant. When we once get under way I 
shall mount from the piles of Injuns you are safe to 
send to kingdom come.” 

“A neat turn of a compliment, hey, Volney?” ob- 
served Tom, stepping up to his side. “ I have 
brought the ladies out to admire your cavalry.” 

Volney bowed, — that short, crisp bow usually in- 
dulged in by military men, — and he earnestly hoped 
that the horse would spill his cautious rider, who 
had dared to crack a joke at his expense in the pres- 
ence of ladies. 

The mounting was but the beginning of the fun, 
the order to trot being followed by the rolling off of 
many of the riders like so many logs. One man in 
his fall caught his steed by the hind-leg to stop him, 
and narrowly escaped a broken head. 

The gallop still further thinned the ranks, and a 
sudden “ Halt I” from Volney was promptly obeyed 
by the quadrupeds, while more than one of the 
bipeds kept on, regardless alike of discipline or 
horses’ heads. 

II* 


126 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


On each trial, however, there was a perceptible 
improvement. The soldiers enjoyed the fun, and were 
determined not to let their bad horsemanship stand 
in the way of the eagerly anticipated Indian chase. 

“ Of all farces,” said Volney as soon as he could 
spare a moment from his duty, “ this mounting of 
infantry is the poorest. The government should add 
several regiments of cavalry to the service and place 
them at these frontier posts. Four regiments of 
cavalry and one of mounted rifles is a beggarly 
allowance for such an extent of frontier. However, 
there is not a ghost of a chance of our overtaking 
the Comanches.” 

“ Oh, I do trust there is not!” earnestly exclaimed 
Miss Kate, with clasped hands and a suspicion of a 
tear in her blue eyes. 

“ Is that anxiety for me, or is most of it for her 
cousin?” was Paul Volney’s thought. What he said 
was this : 

“That is unkind of you, when Tom and I have 
our spurs yet to win. Farewell ; perhaps I may not 
see you again ;” and he pressed Kate’s little hand in 
both of his. But, noticing that she started and turned 
pale at his words, he hastened to add : “ I mean be- 
fore we leave, as we get off before daylight to-mor- 
row. Of course we shall come back again all right in 
four or five days. And I will engage to eat all the 
Indians we find.” 

This was kindly said to keep up Kate’s courage. 
To himself he said, “ She surely loves me, this agita- 
tion proves it and then he sighed. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


127 


CHAPTER VI. 

All the children, with Kate Comerford in their 
midst, were seated, on one pleasant day, in the 
lignum vitce grove. For, except while a “ norther” 
lasted, which was usually about three days, with in- 
tervals of two or three weeks between the “ northers,” 
the weather, even in mid-winter, resembled the Indian 
summer of the North. 

To-day the occupation of the company consisted 
in the making of rosaries out of the coral-like berries 
of the lignum vitce tree. These seed, naturally as 
hard as a rock, had been steeped in vinegar to render 
them pierceable. 

Miss Kate, assisted by Nora Ryan and Mrs. Ash- 
burys nurse Cindy, was engaged in perforating the 
berries, and the children in stringing them, putting 
in, after each decade of coral Aves, a prettily carved 
ebony bead for the Pater Noster, The ebony beads 
had been shaped by the skilful hands of Mr. Haw- 
thorn, assisted by that good Presbyterian, Jack 
Waters. 

When asked by young Heron how he reconciled 
it to his conscience to assist in the manufacture of 
Catholic rosaries, the reply was that if not supplied 
with these playthings, the Catholics would be at 
some other nonsense quite as objectionable. 

Mrs. Silvers had sent for and received from San 


128 


JiTATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


Antonio, by the train in which Volney had come up, 
some small crucifixes, already blessed, to attach to 
these primitive rosaries. 

“ Nora,” said Clay Ashbur (speaking in a stage- 
aside), “ here is a letter for you. I don’t like the 
man that gave it to me, but I will keep my promise 
and ’liver it without letting any one see me.” And 
Clay turned his back on the rest of the party while 
he handed Nora the note, carefully folded in his 
handkerchief. 

“ What is that, Nora ?” asked Miss Comerford. 
” Not a clandestine correspondence ?” 

Why, ’tis surprised that I am. Master Clay, that 
you should not like Sergeant O’Brien ; he sets great 
store by you,” said ready Nora, hoping thus to throw 
dust into Miss Kate’s bright eyes. 

“/ never said I did not like O’Brien,” declared the 
boy, who of course did not suspect Nora’s motives 
for wishing to obscure the young lady’s vision. 
“ He is my friend ; he shows me how to beat the 
drum, and is making me a big kite. Why, he belongs 
to my own company, he does, — Company K. It was 
not O’Brien I meant, but Lieuten ” 

“ Oh,” interrupted the blushing Nora, “ Luten, of 
B company, is no favorite of mine either ; faith, he is 
the manest soldier in the garrison. Run, Master 
Clay ; there goes O’Brien now with the big kite he’s 
made for you, with an Indian painted on one side 
and a buffalo on the other.” 

This created the desired diversion from the subject 
of the writer of the mysterious letter. But Miss 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


129 

Comerford was not satisfied, and the first time she 
caught Clay alone she insisted on knowing who gave 
him that note. 

“ Well, I reckon he would not mind my just telling 
you, Cousin Kate ; but I won’t say his name. I’ll 
just observe he is the man I heard you say had a 
crhne-ister eye. I asked him once what crimeister 
meant, but he didn’t know. I never told him, though, 
you said that about his eye, for father says it is not 
gentlemanly to repeat what ladies say before you 
about the young men.” 

“ What in the name of common sense can the boy 
mean ?” exclaimed Kate. But, suddenly, the truth 
dawned on her mind. The letter must have been 
from Lieutenant Boswell, the expression of whose 
eye she remembered to have defined as sinister. 
What could a correspondence between these two 
portend ? She must do all she could to defeat any 
plots against O’Brien’s peace of mind. 

“ Nora,” said Sergeant O’Brien, as, standing on 
the outside, he leaned his arms on the sill of Mrs. 
Duval’s kitchen window and talked with his sweet- 
heart, while that pretty but coquettish maid stood 
ironing the white, beruffled slips of little Antonio, — 
“ Nora, I must be let to have a sarious talk wi’ you 
when you shall be through your work this avening. 
Meet me by the live-oak tree forninst the hospital 
ruins.” Thus the soldiers designated the unfinished 
buildings. 

“ Perhaps,” said Nora, tossing her head as she 



KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


130 

turned to take up a hot iron, for her lover’s tone was 
none too polite. 

“ Don’t fail me,” said he, '' for I have that 
upon me heart which must and will make itself 
heard.” 

Nora paused in her work after O’Brien left her, 
pondering on his last words, which had left an un- 
comfortable impression on her mind. And during 
that absorbing revery the hot iron left a decidedly 
unpleasant impression on the very front width of 
Master Antonio’s white slip. 

The young girl cared too much for the good-look- 
ing soldier not to keep the appointment. As they 
walked slowly back and forth in the shadow of the 
wall about dusk that evening, O’Brien thus proceeded 
to relieve his feelings : 

Nora darlint, I want you to promise me to have 
nothing further to do with that villain. I’ve remon- 
sthrated wi’ you, and I’ve coaxed you ; but now it 
has arove at that pass that I must take a stand more- 
over. You’ve got now to choose betwane us. I’ll 
have no high-fliers hanging around my lass, — no 
wasps buzzing about my rose. And shure it’s you- 
self as is the rose of the perrairy and the darlint o’ 
me heart. Oh, my dearest, niver let vanity blind ye, 
or the love o’ tasing mislead ye. You ought to be 
having the sinse to see that a girl in your station o’ 
life cannot resave intentions from such as he without 
injury to her good name.” 

“ O’Brien, it’s you are the most jealous lad in the 
regiment. Only last month it was Sergeant Kane I 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


I3I 

was not to spake to. I fear it’s little peace o’ me 
life I’d enjoy if I ever came to marry you.” 

“ Whist ! Nora dear, the weddin’-ring is a shure 
cure for jealousy; you might lade me by the nose, 
and do as you plased, once you let me slip it over 
your finger.” 

“ Where would be the joy in such a tame sort of 
love ? Such is no more to be likened to the love 
that would win me heart than a barn-door fowl to an 
eagle. The very sparkle and fun will be snuffed out 
of me life when I no longer have the delight o’ tasing 
you, Mick, and o’ seeing your fists clinch and your 
eye strike fire whenever I smile upon another lad.” 

That may be fun to you, Nora, but ’tis death to 
me, as the frog said when the boys beraved him of 
his skin.” 

“ More be token, O’Brien, why should I stoop 
to listen to the likes of you, a common soldier, when 
there’s the choice of being an officer’s lady offered 
me ?” 

“ Nora Ryan, are you fey ? or what has come to 
you, that common sinse and you have parted com- 
pany ? If Lieutenant Boswell was so lost to a sinse 
of what is due his station as to offer to make you his 
wife, it’s not in the Twelfth Regiment he’d long re- 
main, for his brother-officers would soon kick him 
out of it. How would you fale now making pretinse 
to be a lady, and sitting up beside such born ladies 
» as Mrs. Ashbur and Mrs. Duval and the lave o’ 
them ? Mark my words, that omadhoun has no such 
honest intentions towards a poor Irish girl. Nothing 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


132 

else save disgrace comes of such flutterations, the 
parties being so onaqual.” 

“ Let me see the man, gentle or simple, who dares 
to mintion disgrace and Nora Ryan in the same 
breath. He’d have nade to order his wig, for the 
two hands of me would be afther laving him so bare 
he’d think the Indians had scalped him !” cried angry 
Nora. And if it is me as is not good enough for 
such a mane creture as you think the leftenant, why, 
thin, I must be beneath the notice of so suparior a 
person as Sergeant O’Brien.” 

“ Not good enough, Nora mavourneen ! The likes 
of him are not worthy to kiss the ground your dear 
feet tread upon. But, Nora, avich, there’s a fitness 
and propriety in these things ; the hawk should not 
mate with the dove. And, to tell you the thruth, I 
truly consave it is more to bedivil me than aught 
else — for he has an old grudge at me — that the man 
has set himself to bothering around my swateheart,” 
said O’Brien. 

Never you mind, Mick,” answered Nora, slightly 
pacified, for the girl began to think she had ventured 
far enough in her love of teasing, although it is 
barely possible that her actions had been somewhat 
influenced by her ambition to become a lady. 

Go to your rest in peace,” she continued. “ I’ll 
not hearken to the note of the hawk, — he may swoop 
down upon some other chicken. But if I am a dove, 
sure it is not the most dove-like mate I’m afther 
choosing.” And Nora laughed heartily. 

The reconciled lovers now bade farewell, and the 


SKETCHES OF GAFF ISON LIFE. 


133 

sound that attended the parting good-night was not 
altogether like the cooing of doves. 

The happy sergeant went off singing, — 

Oh, Nora, me darling, you’ve tased me enough.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

Lieutenant Hawthorn was lingering over a game 
of chess with Colonel Comerford one evening, while 
the colonel’s fair daughter sat near them singing 
ballads to the touch of her light guitar. The elder 
player had, undoubtedly, the advantage, for his op- 
ponent was less interested in plans for taking the 
colonel’s castle, or giving check to his king, than in 
the more intricate problem of winning the citadel of 
his daughter’s heart and checkmating that American 
sovereign yclept Paul Volney. 

As he took the bishop’s pawn with his knight, he 
found himself ardently wishing that his rival might 
be of one mind with his namesake, St. Paul, and 
wisely elect to remain in a state of single blessed- 
ness. This was one way out of the difficulty. There 
was no hope, in this wilderness, of the intervention 
of some other pretty girl as a lure to draw off Vol- 
ney’s volatile affections. That he was fickle-hearted 
Hawthorn felt assured. He never before so felt the 
want of a sister, whose service^ would have been in- 
valuable to him at this time. 


134 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


** Check !” said the colonel. 

The young man, after making his move, thus went 
on with his self-communings : 

Could fate be so unkind as to have set aside for 
another the only woman who has found entrance 
into my ” 

Your castle !” interpolated the elder player. 

“ No, my heart,” continued Hawthorn, in his 
musings, yielding the castle as of minor importance. 
“I am not yet thoroughly convinced on all points, 
and cannot, therefore, declare myself a Catholic ; 
still dispensations have been granted. Would it, I 
wonder, be necessary to wait until one could be ob- 
tained from the ” 

** King in check again,” said the colonel. 

“ Not the king, but the pope. Or would not the 
consent of the bishop suffice ” 

“Your bishop is mine!” cried the player whose 
thoughts centered in the game. 

“ And yours, too, is the queen of my heart,” sighed 
the player whose thoughts did not, under his breath. 

“ And here I give you checkmate I” said the col- 
onel, chuckling. 

“ I fear, indeed, you will 1” said Kate Comerford’s 
lover aloud, quite forgetting himself 

The gentleman whose son-in-law he aspired to 
become looked up in surprise. 

“Will be disgusted with my stupidity this even- 
ing in giving you too easy a victory,” continued 
Hawthorn, as if his voice had merely happened to 
fall after the wrong word. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


135 

A servant belonging to Major Silvers here entered 
with a note inviting the colonel to step over and help 
Ashbur, Duval, and himself to fight their Mexican 
battles over again. They wished to celebrate the 
anniversary of the battles of Palo Alto and Resaca 
de la Palma while discussing some choice cham- 
pagne. 

“Excuse me, Hawthorn; your revenge will await 
you to-morrow evening,” said the old gentleman, 
while the young man gladly hastened to help him on 
with his light overcoat. 

When her father had gone Miss Kate inquired, 
“ Why are you not also invited, Mr. Hawthorn ? or is 
it that you do not care to have a rehash of your 
battles ?” 

“Unfortunately, Miss Comerford, I have not as 
yet had the good luck to assist in a battle at first 
hand. The Mexican war had not the grace to wait 
until I joined. When the veterans, as we dub the 
soldiers of that war, meet together for the purpose 
of glorifying, we plebs — such as Waters, Volney, and 
myself — stand in the background, gnawing our lips 
with envy, or, as Waters expresses it, with our 
mouths watering for some of the fine chances of dis- 
tinction we have missed.” Then he continued in a 
somewhat hurried manner, — 

“Army life in time of peace is often dull and 
monotonous, — a rough and isolated existence for 
such ladies as have chosen to share a soldier’s hard 
lot. I sometimes wonder how the wives of our offi- 
cers have been so self-denying as to relinquish the 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


136 

comforts and elegances of civil life for the sake of 
their husbands. A soldier should indeed be able to 
appreciate as it deserves the high compliment paid 
him. However, this much may be said in their favor : 
you will find no more devoted husbands on earth. 
The very fact that any day may bring an order which 
will separate them, and the frequent exposure to 
danger, serve to strengthen the tie and to keep alive 
in the heart of the husband the ardor of the lover.” 

“ I have heard Mrs. Ashbur remark that when they 
were last out on the recruiting service, her sister 
often declared that army officers seemed the most 
lover-like of husbands,” said Miss Kate. My 
father, however, thinks no officer under the rank 
of major should be allowed to take a wife. He 
says their pay is insufficient, and women are greatly 
in the way on the march. I believe only his fear 
that I might take it into my head to become a 
nun in course of time, if left much longer in the 
convent, induced him to let me join him again in 
Texas. I acknowledge I encouraged his fears on 
this point.” 

“ Had you any idea of burying yourself alive in 
that fashion ?” asked he, with a look of horror. 

” Not the remotest. I have not the shadow of a 
vocation for the religious life. My unspiritual nature 
finds it sufficiently hard to make the little sacrifices 
demanded of us in a life in the world. I should 
shrink from the thousand and one austerities and 
mortifications practised by the good nuns. Even 
their plain food would be a trial to me, for I am 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE, 


137 

fond of nice dishes. I can make them, too, for I 
learned that art of Sister Seraphine, though Tom 
does laugh at some of my failures. Then, too, a 
morning nap, just for a last dream, is one of the 
rewards of a good conscience, and those poor sis- 
ters go pattering around the house in the dark, 
like so many owls, at five o’clock on a freezing 
winter morning.” 

” O-o-o-o ! that is enough of itself to keep any sane 
girl out of a nunnery,” said Hawthorn, with a sympa- 
thetic shiver, remembering with what reluctance on 
many a cold morning he had been torn from his 
couch at the unwelcome sound of the reveille. 

‘‘Another of my fancies,” continued Miss Kate, “ is 
to read interesting novels until a late hour at night, 
while in the convent we retire about the time the 
chickens go to roost. It is true that whenever 
m}^ thoughts desire to dwell on the most peace- 
ful scene below the skies, I find myself wandering 
in spirit from room to room and through the 
winding passages, taking a few steps up here and 
a few down there at unexpected places in the 
dear irregular, odd old convent of the Sacred 
Heart in St. Louis. Every bush and flower in the 
yard has a sweet and separate association. I love 
the very iron gate through which we caught glimpses 
of the good things in the French market, and over 
the threshold of which we so seldom passed.” 

‘‘Miss Kate,” abruptly asked Hawthorn, ” if your 
father’s determination never to bestow the hand of 
his daughter on a poor army officer dependent on 
12* 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


138 

his pay could possibly be overcome, could you emu- 
late the self-sacrifice of such women as your friend, 
Mrs. Ashbur, and consent to share a soldier’s hard 
lot?” 

“Your description of the hardships of such a life 
is enough to deter me,” said the young lady, laugh- 
ing and blushing. “ But there is no telling what I 
might be tempted to do if Dr. McBriar perseveres in 
his attentions, and writes many more verses addressed 
to me under the title of ‘ The lassie wi’ the lint-white 
locks.’ When he once put on that enchanting smile 
of his, and demanded (as I turned all his pretty 
speeches into ridicule), ‘ What shall I say to make 
you understand my love and my misery?’ I sug- 
gested that he might say, ‘ Pity the sorrows of a 
poor old man, whose trembling limbs have brought 
him to your door.’ ” 

“ I did not believe you could be so hard-hearted,” 
said Hawthorn, who could not help having a fellow- 
feeling for the doctor, “though his presumption — at 
his age — is sufficiently ridiculous.” 

“ If I believed the man in earnest, I should not 
laugh at him, nor should I betray such delicate 
secrets. But who could treat seriously his exagger- 
ated and al-fresco style of courtship ? Everything is 
said in a half-jesting tone, and all of his pretty speeches 
are made in the face of the world. Tom Heron was 
present when he called on me to instruct him what 
to say, and the doctor himself laughed heartily, and 
said perhaps the lines would be appropriate. Father 
asked him once, in my presence, what he meant by 


SKETCHES OF GAFF /SON LIFE. 


139 

talking such nonsense to a child ; to which the doc- 
tor replied that he only wished to keep his hand 
in until some handsome widow of suitable age and 
fortune should present herself” 

“ I am anxious to know, Miss Kate, in what 
mood you receive Mr. Volney’s sweet speeches. 
You can scarcely feign a doubt of his sincerity. 
Which reminds me : when we came in that day from 
our unlucky fishing I fancied he looked daggers at 
me as we rode by. And afterwards, seeming to re- 
pent him of his chilly salutation, he inquired after my 
wounded arm and made a set speech, thanking me 
for having rescued you, expressing such gratitude that 
one would have supposed you his promised bride.” 

The rosy hue that stained Kate Comerford’s deli- 
cate complexion both surprised and pained Haw- 
thorn. Had he stumbled upon or near the truth ? 

Kate could scarcely herself understand why this 
allusion to one for whom she only cherished the 
mildest friendship should cause the blood to rush to 
her cheek and her heart to beat so uncomfortably. 
Now, first of all, she dreaded any suspicion entering 
Hawthorn’s mind of her silly, girlish fancy for Paul 
Volney, especially of the terribly imprudent proof 
she had given of her infatuation on the ever-memor- 
able night of the baile. Shame for that girlish es- 
capade had often dyed her cheeks with hot blushes 
when memory recalled the past, even while in the 
safe retreat of her convent home. 

For the first time the thought now struck her that 
the engagement had never been formally dissolved. 


140 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


Certainly Paul had not seemed to take the frustration 
of his plans greatly to heart at the time, and she had 
considered the whole thing at an end forever. “ Did 
Volney still hold himself in honor bound ?” was the 
next thought which obtruded itself. In this connec- 
tion a sentiment advanced by Hawthorn some days 
previous now recurred with painful distinctness to 
her mind and troubled her heart. 

Hawthorn had dwelt with marked emphasis on 
the binding force of marriage engagements, led to 
such expression by a dissertation on flirting carried 
on principally between McBriar and Jack Waters. 
Waters had remarked during the discussion “ that it 
would be well if some people"' (here he stared at Miss 
Kate, who in her innocence paid no heed) “ viewed 
marriage itself in as serious a light as Mr. Hawthorn 
did a simple engagement.” 

Watching the varying expression of the young 
girl’s features, Hawthorn, as a matter of course, gave 
to these tokens of embarrassment the interpretation 
least favorable to his own hopes, and, after the 
manner of all self-tormenting lovers, descended at 
once from the green and sunny heights of Hope to 
the very bottom of the abyss of Despair. 

Seizing his hat, he bade an abrupt good-night, 
leaving Miss Kate so miserable that only a fit of 
tears could do justice to her outraged feelings. 

“ Whatever becomes of Lieutenant Hawthorn 
fand I hope he may soon meet with a girl who has 
never broken an engagement, and make her Mrs. 
Hawthorn), this hateful engagement, if one still exists, 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


I4I 

must and shall be cancelled, at whatever cost of 
blushes to myself in having to allude to the past,’* 
was Kate’s resolve. 

Volney and Heron returned one Sunday morning 
from their scout, having, as anticipated, seen nothing 
of the Indians, though they had faithfully scoured 
the prairies for many miles with the assistance of the 
best Indian guide in Texas; all that had been ac- 
complished being the initiation of the men into the 
mysteries of horsemanship, Tom vowing that he 
would now match them against centaurs, in a short 
race, in the way of sticking on. Nothing short of 
an earthquake would unseat them. 

After reporting their proceedings and want of suc- 
cess to the commanding officer, Volney, hearing that 
the ladies were gone to what the soldiers proudly 
called the chapely bent his steps thither. 

Not far from the walls of the hospital, and directly 
east of that unfinished building, stood a small, octag- 
onal, log edifice on a pretty, green knoll. It had 
been built as a labor of love by the soldiers, under 
the direction of Lieutenants Hawthorn and Waters, 
to be used as a Sunday-school, and for such religious 
services as could be conducted without a priest. 
Here the rosary was recited and the Litany sung. 

The inner walls of this petite chapel were orna- 
mented with a fresco of shells and pebbles, the larger 
shells being arranged in form of crosses, stars, crowns, 
etc., all imbedded in the cement in a truly ingenious 


manner. 


142 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


There was even an altar, because it was hoped 
that some time a priest from San Antonio might 
visit Fort Fairfax. This small altar was formed of 
interlaced boughs of oak, preserving their natural 
form, only the bark being removed ; the top was a 
slab of red cedar, the edges carved in sheaves of 
wheat and grape-vines. 

A passion-flower vine (artificial of course) had been 
woven in and out among the twisted oak boughs, its 
very singular rich purple flowers and dark-green 
leaves contrasting well with the hue of the wood. 

A large crucifix of ivory and ebony stood in the 
centre of the altar, and on either side one silver and 
one handsomely carved wooden candlestick. The sil- 
ver ones belonged to Mrs. Silvers, and the other two 
had been formed by the skilful hand of a Swiss 
wood-carver, whom some strange chance had led to 
enlist in the United States army. The amputated 
bed-posts of Mrs. Ashbur had furnished material. 

On Sundays and other holidays candles were 
lighted, and wild-flowers, hitherto wasting their 
sweetness on the desert air and trodden under foot 
of savages, were here put to their sweetest use, and 
enjoyed the privilege of sending up their fragrance 
as incense in union with the prayers of the children. 

The floor of this unique chapel, composed of 
cement, was paved all around the altar with the coral- 
like seed of the lignum vitcB. 

In the spring the outer walls, now showing the 
bark of the logs, were to be mantled by ivy, cypress, 
and other vines. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


143 

The altar had on it, besides the crucifix and the 
candlesticks, a few large and exquisitely beautiful 
sea-shells, generously donated by Mrs. Duval, whose 
brother, a naval officer, had sent home a rare collec- 
tion. 

A small set of stations of the cross, bound in blue 
ribbon for lack of frames, were tacked at intervals 
around the walls. Hawthorn, who was no contempt- 
ible artist, was engaged in the daring undertaking of 
painting, after a small model in Mrs. Silvers’s prayer- 
book, The Adoration of the Shepherds. This was to 
be completed before Christmas, provided the artist 
did not a second time introduce so striking a like- 
ness of a certain blue-eyed Catherine — by no means 
a saint — as to be compelled once more to undo his 
work. 

In order to overcome this temptation, and to give 
vent to his feelings, he began another picture, in 
secret, in which the lady of his heart was depicted in 
the character of the Peri at the gate of Eden pre- 
senting as her passport the precious tear of the re- 
pentant sinner. The repentant sinner in the picture 
bore a strong likeness in form and feature to the 
handsome artist. What role will a man not assume 
to be brought near to his heart’s delight ? 

The last hymn was being sung as Volney reached 
the open chapel door : 

“ Come up hither, pause nor falter. 

Thou shalt see a wondrous sight : 

By the golden incense altar 
Stands an angel clad in white.” 


144 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


Listening, he distinguished the superb voice of 
Mrs. Duval, the sweet clear notes of Kate Comer- 
ford, and the rich tenor of that confounded Haw- 
thorn ! In the chorus the shrill voices of the children 
went up, and O’Brien and Nora, with their sweet 
Irish brogue, did not mar the melody, as they sang : 

“ Priest of Heaven — Angelus — 

May ye ever pray for us !” 


Paul Volney, as he gazed on the rapt face of one 
of the worshippers, with a pale blue veil like a cloud 
shading her golden hair, was thinking that an angel 
could scarcely be fairer. But when his gaze turned 
upon the dark -brown wavy hair and deep blue eyes 
of Hawthorn, it did not enter his mind to liken that 
handsome — provokingly handsome — head to saint or 
angel. He rather felt this dangerous rival to be the 
serpent of his paradise. 

The love which was enkindled on the Rio Grande, 
but which had since suffered an eclipse in his heart, 
if truth be told, now burst forth in something of its 
original force. 

As they came out of the chapel, the bright blushes 
with which this blue-veiled angel welcomed him back, 
and congratulated him on leaving none of his chest- 
nut locks as trophies for the Comanches, reassured 
in a measure his doubting heart. But the persistent 
presence of Hawthorn on her right, preventing any 
approach to a sentimental tUe-a-tUe as they slowly 
walked homeward, served to irritate Paul quite as 
much with the young lady as against his brother-in- 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


145 

arms. For surely it was her fault that any man 
should presume to hang about her in this fashion 
without a suspicion of being de trop. 

In the evening Volney called at Colonel Comerford’s 
canvas residence, hoping to secure the bewitching 
Kate as companion in a moonlight stroll along the 
green banks of the brook. 

There sat Dr. McBriar, tilted back in his chair, 
with one hand thrust in his pocket, the other engaged 
in threading his iron-gray locks, — a favorite attitude, — 
while he was making extravagant, half-mocking love- 
speeches to the laughing Kate, who seemed to have 
just left off singing, as she still held the guitar. Haw- 
thorn, flute in hand, looking enough like an Apollo 
to make Paul feel savage, stood by her side. 

“ Was ever mortal so vexed by impertinent inter- 
lopers !” thought Volney. 

“ If music be the food of love” (the doctor was 
quoting), “ play on. Give me excess of it ” 

” Better let the poor thing die in peace at last,” 
said Miss Kate. “ I began to fear your Cupid had as 
many lives as a cat ; if it be possible to starve it to 
death, and so give you peace in your declining years, 
I am willing to renounce music.” 

Whereupon the good surgeon began : 

“ ‘ They sin who tell us love can die. 

With life all other passions fly — 

All others are but vanity. 

In heaven ambition cannot dwell.’ 

See to it, Volney; if you fail to secure your gen- 
G i 13 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


146 

eral’s stars here the mishap will never be corrected 
there, and you will be ‘the rare and radiant youth 
whom the angels call’ plain Paul Volney, with niver 
a handle. 

‘ Nor avarice in the vaults of hell.’ 

So, colonel, cease to grieve over the fifty dollars of 
which Yellow Wolf beguiled you. Where was I ? — 

“ ‘ But love is indestructible. 

Its holy flame forever burneth ; 

From heaven it came, to heaven returneth !’” 


“ Doctor, those gray locks ought to warn you 
that your time for playing Romeo is over,” re- 
marked the colonel. ” Esculapius should hold fast 
to his lancets and leave Cupid’s arrows to the 
boys.” 

“/don’t want to play Romeo. Miss Kate and I 
have no fancy for high tragedy, daggers, and poison. 
I dinna care a pinch o’ snuff for na’ sic saft-headed 
fooleries,” retorted McBriar, who at odd times affected 
the Scotch dialect. “ It’s Petruchio I’d fain be to this 
merry Kate. 

“ Trust not to fickle youth, young lady,” continued 
the irrepressible surgeon. “ And take ye notice that 
it is the doctor who is always the most taking hero 
in the novel. There is the good Bear in Miss Bre- 
mer’s ‘ Home,’ Dick May in ‘ Daisy Chain,’ Dr. Hart- 
well in ‘ Beulah.’ ” 

“ Don’t forget Sangrado,” put in Hawthorn. 

“As I was saying, put not your trust in fickle 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


147 

youth, my lass, but be as wise as ‘ Roy’s Wife of 
Aldavalloch,’ who has ' ta’en the carl and left her 
Jamie.’ ” 

“ But Roy’s age is three times mine : 

Perhaps his days will not be mony ; 

And when the chiel is dead and gane. 

She’ll maybe rue, and talc’ her Jamie.” 

Thus sang Volney, determined to get in a word 
edgewise. 

“You shall be welcome to my relict,’’ laughed 
Dr. McBriar. “But it is ill waiting for dead men’s 
shoon. Why did you not remain in San Antonio, 
Volney? I have heard that our Paul found there 
his Virginia — hey ?’’ 

The modern Paul did not condescend to notice the 
rude doctor’s last observation ; but he managed to 
say to Miss Comerford, while the others were speak- 
ing to Mrs. Ashbur, who had just come in with Clay 
and Winny, — 

“ Do you think, under the circumstances, such con- 
versation very edifying ? /do not relish it.’’ 

“ Oh,’’ returned the unconscious maiden, lightly, 
“ there is no manner of use in trying to curb the 
doctor’s tongue. If the ‘ old gentleman’ ’’ (the sur- 
geon was not over forty-five) “ enjoys this attempt at 
rejuvenation, I suppose we young people should in- 
dulge him.’’ 

“And is the same rule to apply to Lieutenant 
Hawthorn ?” was the quick response. 

“ Well, Mr. Hawthorn is not quite a Methuselah, 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


148 

nor is he given to making love-speeches,” said Miss 
Kate, with a rosy blush. 

Perhaps not, — in public. But I have more than 
once had the pain of hearing your name coupled 
with his. Surely, after what has passed between us, 

something is due to me, even You should 

not quite ” he stammered on. “I did not think 

to find you coquetting, — acting the role of the young 
lady ” 

“ Pray, then,” cried the astonished girl, would 
you have me play the old lady ?” 

This levity ” began Volney, sternly, when he 

was interrupted. 

“Oh, Cousin Kate,” cried Clay, pulling at her 
sleeve (sent on this errand by his watchful mother), 
“ do look at my book. Alcy Duval says I don’t 
know enough of military tictacs to command a com- 
pany, so I am studying up. How do you think Gus 
Duval behaved when we were having a grand battle 
ye.sterday? Alcy was William the Conqueror, and 
I was Napoleon Bonaparte, and Gus, he was one of 
Alexander’s captains. And when the firing began 
(we let off five packs of powder-crackers), why, Gus, 
he got behind his company instead of leading them. 
And Alcy — William the Conqueror, I mean — shouted 
out to him to lead his men, and not drive them 
like sheep. Gussy, he wouldn’t, and just shouted 
back, ‘ it wasn’t polite to come between company and 
the fire.’ ” 

“ And pray,” said his mother (evidently desirous 
that Miss Comerford’s attention should be distracted 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


149 


from Mr. Volney’s earnest speeches), where was that 
notable battle fought ? Adown the corridors of ages ? 
Certainly, William was the fastest general on record 
if he managed to cross the centuries and get down 
in time to meet Napoleon.” 

Please, Mr. Paul, tell me all about your fight with 
the Comanches,” continued the aggravating child. 
“ Cousin Tom says you ate all you killed, but I don’t 
believe him.” 

” Clay,” called out Tom Heron, who had followed 
his aunt into the room, “this much you maj/ believe: 
when the enemy loomed in the distance we, very 
naturally, wheeled and came spinning home. There ! 
if Paul can weave a better story than that, the Fates 
may cut my thread.” 

“ Foiled again in getting any satisfaction,” sighed 
Volney, as he made his way to his quarters. 


13^ 


KATE COMERFORD; ORy 


150 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The next week Mrs. Silvers gave a party, and 
charades were introduced, partly in memory of the 
pleasant evenings enjoyed during the sojourn of the 
Twelfth at Knocktin Barracks. Mr. Tom Heron said 
that he had invented a rebus all by himself, which 
the others should have the pleasure of guessing. 

First he placed his cousin Kate’s parrot on its 
perch, and set the perch in the middle of the floor. 
By her side, to the right, stood Clay Ashbur, dressed 
as an Indian and holding the deuce of spades in his 
hand, while on the table before him lay a pack of 
cards with spades turned up for trumps. Next to 
the cards stood Mrs. Silvers’s hand-bell and a five-dol- 
lar note. Last of all, Tom, after a visit to the kitchen, 
returned with a fine venison ham, which the Indian 
guide had that day presented to Major Silvers, and 
placed it also on the table. To the ham a card was 
attached, marked “ Price, fifty dollars.” 

These preliminaries arranged, the company were 
informed that they had before them a celebrated work 
of art. 

” Oh, that is easy enough,” cried Dr. McBriar. 
” The hidian is a bird of ill-omen, who will play the 
deuce with the dear — palefaces understood, I pre- 
sume.” 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


ISI 

The doctor, as usual, had blundered ; but Lieuten- 
ant Boswell read the riddle, which was pronounced 
very simple indeed as soon as the word was spoken : 
Apol-lo-bell- V-dere / 

“ I almost had it. I said dear, you know,” insisted 
Dr. McBriar. 

And played the deuce with the rest of it,” laughed 
Major Silvers. 

” Now guess this,” said the doctor : Why do 
men run to the bells when the town is on fire ? 
Give it up? Because they are in suspension and 
ought to be tolledP 

Mr. Hawthorn proposed this: “Why was Edgar 
A. Poe supposed to draw his inspiration from tea ?” 

“ Because it is more charitable than to fancy him 
inspired by something stronger,” was the solution 
offered by Captain Ashbur. 

“ George never could guess a riddle,” said his wife. 
“ Is it not because a little black t would make Edgar 
A. Poetr 

“ Listen ! Here is one on which I have fairly ex- 
hausted myself,” said Mr. Volney: “When a little 
nigger was cracked over the head by his teacher his 
exclamation was the title of one of Tennyson’s poems. 
Which ?” 

Every one gave it up. “ Enoch Arden (he knock 
hard den).” 

“ Volney, does your head ache ?” said Waters. 
“ I fear we shall lose you, — too bright to last.” 

This was Captain Francisco’s contribution : “ When 
is a man justified in putting on airs ? Answer: When 


UTATE COMERFORD; OR, 


152 

his wife blows him up because he can’t raise the 
wind.” 

“This is the best I can do,” said Jack Waters, 
when called on in turn : If I should marry, why 
would my wife be sure to rule me ?” 

Because you would be the weaker vessel, I sup- 
pose,” said Mrs. Silvers. 

“ No ; because I’d be only quarter master V* 

“ Let the wife alone, Mr. Waters, until you are 
something more than that. Don’t insult a lady by 
offering her any lower rank than that of a major’s 
wife,” said Colonel Comerford. “ Why should Mrs. 
Silvers now serve up a whale for our refreshment ? 
Because the brains of this company must now be 
completely exhausted.” 

“Now, colonel, don’t be sarcastic. Here is the 
last and best,” said Dr. McBriar : “ My first tries my 
second, and my second, in executing my first, creates 
my whole. I offer a prize to the one who solves 
that.” 

No one could. Mrs. Ashbur said she would, if 
she had to stay awake all night to do it. Never yet 
had she found a puzzle too hard for her. 

Miss Kate also was a good guesser, and entered 
the lists. We may as well state here that, after let- 
ting the whole garrison puzzle their heads over it for 
one whole week, the propounder of that riddle coolly 
acknowledged he had never been able to find an an- 
swer. The thing was not original with him; he had 
come across it in some newspaper years ago, and had 
' often wasted an hour in trying to solve it. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


153 

The main feature of this evening’s entertainment 
was to be a chant or recitation called “ Liberty’s Re- 
quiem,” accompanied by tableaux. Hawthorn had j 

been at the trouble of painting a scene for it, and f 

that the effect might not be spoiled by a crowded 
stage, Mrs. Silvers had induced her husband to pitch 
an extra hospital tent. ■ 

To this tent the company now adjourned. The I 

portion of the assembly representing the audience — | 

not a large one — being at last seated, the curtain \ 

rose. The scene presented a view of a calm, starry j 

night and a fallen evergreen-tree, looking as if splin- : 

tered by lightning, on the broken bough of which < 

perched an eagle with folded wings and drooping 
head. | 

In front of this scene, stretched on a rustic bier, j 

with the American flag as a pall, lay the beautiful j 

Genius of Liberty, pallid yet lovely, the bright 1;; 

blue eyes closed, the long golden hair sweeping the | 

ground, one fair arm thrown above the head, the j 

other hanging over the side of the bier. A wreath [j 

of bay-leaves had half fallen from the brow, and on j! 

the ground lay the cap and shield of the goddess, ■ 

and near them a broken sword. Drops of blood | 

stained crimson the white of the banner used as a 1 

pall. [ 

Mournful music is heard, also the tolling of bells | 

and the beating of muffled drums in the distance. | 

In a solemn chant these words fall on the ear : j 

“ Weep, weep for her, Columbia ! 

Ye lakes and rivers mourn; 


I 


154 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


Let mountains bow their hoary heads ; 

We sing a glory gone, 

Since Liberty is deadR 

In the beginning the singers are not in view. The 
first part of each stanza that follows is chanted by- 
two voices, the chorus by many. 

I. 

“ Dark night cometh on, and the wild waves moan. 

And the stars their stern vigil are keeping. 

And the dews fall heavy and cold on her bier. 

For nature, all nature, is weeping. 

A thousand muffled drums are beating, 

A million hearts the sound repeating ; 

While tolling of bells 
To the nation tells 
That Liberty is deadT 

During the chanting of the second stanza there 
enters a group of women and children, in white robes, 
but wearing wreaths of cypress and streamers of 
black crape. In passing they throw flowers on the 
bier. 

The requiem goes on : 


II. 

* How could you let her die ?’ Columbia’s daughters sigh, 

As they cover the dead with pale flowers ; 

‘ Loved ones ere this we’ve lost, — on many a field they lie, — 
But ne’er till now such grief, such grief was ours. 

Strew we the fragrant flowers about her. 

Ah, what are we to do without her ? 

God help the land, 

On whose doomed strand 
Fair Liberty was slain P 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIRE. 


155 


III. 

“ Full of remorse and woe, the young men mutter low : 

‘ Thou wast slain, oh, slain while we were dreaming. 

Can aught efface the stain ? Ah, no; ah, no ! 

Vengeance!’ they cry, while swords on high are gleaming. 

* We vow, though we may ne’er regain thee. 

Woe to the dastards who have slain thee ! 

Ah, dread the doom 
Of those by whom 
Our Liberty was slain.'* ” 

During the chanting of these words the women 
pass out, and their place is taken by young men, 
who, at the cry of Vengeance/ draw and clash their 
swords. 

The young men disappear, and the bier is sur- 
rounded by old, gray-headed men, who take up the 
mournful procession as the plaintive strain continues: 

IV. 

“ The old gray-headed men weep and gaze again : 

* Our fathers bought thee with a ransom gory. 

Why are we left when thou, when thou art slain. 

Thus to outlive our country’s glory ? 

Thrice happy he whose hand is free 
Of thy pure blood, lost Liberty. 

Now let us die,’ 

The old men cry, 

‘ Since Liberty is dead/ 


V. 

“ Yea, weep for her, Columbia ! 

Let solemn anthems ring. 

The nations bow their mournful heads. 
While men and maidens sing 


156 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


This requiem true 
As tolls the bell. 

And thus we bid adieu — 

Farewell, farewell !” 

As the curtain fell Colonel Comerford turned to 
Major Silvers and remarked, “ May this requiem not 
be prophetic of disaster to our country !” 

“ Those lines have taken an uncomfortable hold on 
my imagination,” said the latter, standing up and 
shaking himself, as if to get rid of the impression left 
by the requiem. 

“Miss Kate,” said Aunt Phebe, behind the scenes, 
“ I feel like everything and everybody is done gone 
dead, and there ain’t nothing left worth living for,” 
thus familiarly addressing the Genius of Liberty, who 
now appeared “ alive, and alive like to be.” 

“ Thank you. Aunt Phebe,” replied Liberty ; “ that 
is just the impression we wished to create. I almost 
shed tears over my own fate during that sad chant.” 

“And I,” said Mr. Volney, in a low tone, address- 
ing Miss Comerford, “was tempted to give one of 
my fellow-mourners something to weep for by run- 
ning him through with my sword as we passed the 
bier. Confound him ! one might fancy from the way 
he gazed at you that Liberty was his lost bride.” 

“ Mr. Volney, I cannot see why my friends may 
not be allowed to mourn my loss without incurring 
your displeasure,” said Kate, indignantly. “ Really, 
one would fancy that, instead of lying peacefully on 
her bier. Liberty was a captive led about in chains 
by a valiant lieutenant of the United States army.” 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


157 

“Perhaps, madam, you find the bonds, which I 
had hoped would prove too silken to gall, heavy as 
the chains of a slave,” retorted the gentleman, with 
both color and temper rising. 

“ The bonds ! the chains !” exclaimed the aston- 
ished young lady. “ Surely, you do not seriously 

think Certainly an engagement so lightly, so 

rashly formed, can easily be dissolved. I thought 
the — the turn things took on the night of the baile 
had made an end of all. If any formality is yet* 
necessary to undo that folly, let it be gone through 
with at once. I absolve you from your — promises, 
and claim my own freedom.” 

Had the heavens fallen Paul Volney’s face could 
not have expressed greater consternation. 

Impossible I" he exclaimed. “ I deeply regret my 
utter inability to release you. I cannot express my 
chagrin that you should desire it.” 

“ Come, Volney,” said the voice of young Heron; 
“ supper is waiting, or, I should say, disappearing. 
Hello ! what are you and Madame Liberty-come-to- 
life quarrelling over? Does she lay her death at 
your door?” 

“ Only her chains,” replied Volney, bitterly. 

“Nonsense! Madame Freedom was only ’pos- 
suming to-night. For all that is come and gone, 
she has a good long career before her as queen 
of Uncle Sam’s domain, and the only chain she 
knows is the one which unites the States. May 
it never snap 1 Come, let us go and drink that 
toast.” 


14 


158 KATE COMERFORD; OR, 

About this time an incident occurred which sent a 
thrill of excitement throughout the garrison. The 
tidings flew in all directions. Gustavus and Alci- 
biades Duval tumbled into their mother’s room, 
overturning their brother Antonio in their headlong 
race to be first with the news. 

“Oh, mother, Mr. Boswell has been impudent to 
Sargeant O’Brien, and struck him in the face, and 
they are going to fight a juel T cried Gustavus. 

“ He means O’Brien has been dis-subordinate and 
knocked Mr. Boswell into the middle of last week, 
and is to be court-martialed and hung up by the 
thumbs, according to army regulations made and 
provided,” was the lucid explanation of his elder 
brother. 

We leave Mrs. Duval to unravel and separate fact 
from fiction, while we listen to what is passing in the 
other tents on this same day. 

Miss Comerford, with her plump arms bared to 
the dimpled’ elbows, a large check apron tied about 
her neck, was deep in the mysteries of calf’s-foot 
jelly. The whole kitchen was permeated with the 
delightful fragrance of spices, lemons, and wine. 

“A half-glass more of that madeira and just two 
more cloves, Martha, will make this compound in- 
combustible, as Aunt Phebe says,” remarked Kate, 
taking a spoonful from the steaming kettle and 
tasting. 

“ Miss Kate, darlint,” cried Nora Ryan, rushing 
in without ceremony, and casting herself on her 
knees at the young lady’s feet, still holding fast in 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


159 

her arms her charge, Mrs. Duval’s precious baby, 
— “ oh, if you’ve got the heart of a woman in your 
breast, save him ! I implore you, save him !” 

“ Why, what in the world is the matter with the 
child ? Get up, Nora, and give me the baby. From 
what am I to save him ?” and Kate gazed in bewil- 
derment at the rosy, laughing boy. 

“ Not him. Miss Kate. O'Brien gasped Nora. 

“ Come with me into my room, Nora,” said Miss 
Comerford, taking off her apron. “ One more squeeze 
of that lemon, Martha. Watch the kettle ; don’t let 
it boil over. When it comes to a boil count twenty, 
and then take it off. And whatever you do, don’t 
stir it. Now, Nora.” 

Having reached Miss Kate’s room, Nora thus 
began : 

” I was trying my fortune. Miss Kate, me and 
Mrs. Brown’s Bridget, it being All Hallow-e’en. In 
the ould counthry we pull up a cabbage-stalk from 
the garden, but for lack of gardens or cabbages in 
this forsaken place, we had stuck in the ground, in 
the prairie down by, a half-dozen tent-pins. Some 
we had marked with charcoal to signify riches, and, 
more be token, we had writ on them certain names ; 
and as we walked backward, with niver a word nor 
a smile (which would break the charm, you know), I 
was hoping the one marked old maid would not fall 
to my lot; and niver a worse thing were we thinkin’^ 
nor dreamt of a man being nigh. Each of us had 
a bunch of green ribbon in our hair, and we re- 
peated : 


l6o KATE COMERFORD; OR, 

“ ‘ On Hallow-e’en we wear the green : 

O Mother Earth, our fate declare !’ 

All of a sudden Bridget turned and gave a screech, 
and broke for home as fast as her two legs would 
carry her. Just thin I was stooping backwards to 
pull up me cabbage-stalk, — leastways what stood 
for it, — when I found myself, all unbeknownst, in the 
arms of a man ! I thought I had fallen into the 
hands of savages ; so I struck out with both hands 
and feet with all my might, at the same time yelling 
for — I am not sure I called on; St. Michael, most 
likely, for he sint his namesake to me aid, — but not 
before that unmannerly brute had snatched a kiss.” 

“ Gracious, Nora !” interposed Kate ; “ you ought 
to be thankful it was not your scalp he snatched.” 

“ That villain o’ the worreld was no Indian, Miss 
Kate,” cried Nora, blushing, “but one as calls him- 
self a gintleman — save the mark ! — Leftenant Bos- 
well by name. 

“ Now, I’d ask any lady to say what could O’Brien 
do when he found me struggling in the arms of an 
assassin but up with his fist and fell him to the 
ground? 

“ Misfortunately, he called Boswell by name, add- 
ing some not over-polite titles which belong to him 
by rights, but was overlooked in the christening of 
him. So when O’Brien is tried for it, he can’t pre- 
tind to have took him for an Indian. 

“ Mr. Boswell is furious, and vows O’Brien shall 
be broke of his rank, and also thrashed within an 
inch of his life. The lies that man will tell to get 


SKETCHES OF. GARRISON LIFE. i6i 

himself out of the scrape and ruin O’Brien is unbe- 
lievable.” 

“ But what am I to do, Nora ? I see, indeed, how 
an officer’s word may be made to outweigh the un- 
supported testimony of a soldier, and I am afraid 
you will not be able to help him much, as your tes- 
timony may be considered interested. You two 
might be accused of collusion.” 

“ That wretch has caused me confusion enough, 
confound him !” 

” Confusion worse confounded,” quoted Tom 
Heron, poking his head in at the half-open door. 

‘‘ Come in, Mr. Heron,” said Nora, and help me 
to beg Miss Kate, in the name o’ the blissed Virgin, to 
go on her bare knees to the colonel and besach him 
to show mercy to a poor lad and justice to a bad man.” 

” I don’t think that style of penance would have 
much effect on the feelings of our chief,” said Tom, 
walking in and taking possession of a chair and of 
the baby, with whom he was a great favorite. Be- 
sides, young ladies have no knees, only ankles 
tied to their petticoats. However, Nora, we shall do 
everything to clear O’Brien if possible. Boswell is 
not popular in the regiment, and I don’t put faith in 
all he says, but the ugly fact remains of a soldier 
striking an officer.” 

Now let us listen to what is being said on the sub- 
ject in another tent. 

” George,” said Mrs. Ashbur, ‘‘what is this story 
of a soldier raising his hand to an officer?” 

/ 14* 






i 62 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


‘"The hand was not only raised, but fell like a 
sledge-hammer, and the officer, to his sorrow, was un- 
derneath,” replied Captain Ashbur. “This is Boswell’s 
version : In going the rounds as officer of the guard 
he discovered that O’Brien had deserted his post. 
Whether he had been beguiled from the post of 
duty by the ring of his lady-love brought him by a 
dwarf, as in the case of Sir Kenneth in the ‘ Talisman,’ 
or had only stepped into a tent to wet his whistle, 
Boswell does not pretend to say. What he does say 
is, that when found and sharply reprimanded by him- 
self, O’Brien had insolently answered that he cared 
little for Boswell’s displeasure, as he had shown him- 
self the better soldier of the two on the day of the 
fishing; and the soldier put the climax to his impu- 
dence by asserting that the colonel had proposed 
that they should change places. 

“ Now if O’Brien really said this, its coming so 
near the truth was enough to enrage a milder-tem- 
pered man than Boswell. So the very fact that he 
declares he did not strike O’Brien on such provoca- 
tion makes me doubt the whole story. 

“ He goes on to say that, cursing the man for a 
vain idiot, he ordered him to the guard-house, and, 
turning to walk on, the next moment he was felled 
to the ground by a blow on the back of his head. 
There is certainly an ugly contusion there, — worse 
than the bump on the forehead, — but that might have 
come from a fall on a tent-pin, several of which were 
found sticking in the ground. 

“ When he came to his senses he says he heard a 


SKETCHES OF GA EE IS OH LIFE. 


163 

woman’s voice in confab with O’Brien, and he caught 
some words about ‘ helping Mick out of the mess by 
a pious fib.’ ” 

“What will be the end of it?’’ inquired Mrs. Ash- 
bur, anxiously. 

“ I fear it will go hard with O’Brien. There is no 
doubt of the striking, — he does not deny that, — and it 
might have proved fatal. The least punishment will 
be to break him of his rank, — no light loss to a ser- 
geant with marriage in his eye. What further will 
be done I can’t say.” 

Kate’s appeal to her father was answered by a stern 
rebuke and a recommendation not to meddle with 
what in no way concerned her, and a grumbling com- 
plaint that the women among them had spoiled 
O’Brien and were ready to believe any villainy of 
Boswell because he had eyes for no one but pretty 
Mrs. Brown. 

Boswell told a plausible tale, which was still fur- 
ther substantiated by a soldier coming forward and 
testifying to having seen from a distance Boswell’s 
overthrow at the hands of O’Brien, and he was pos- 
itive there was no third person, no woman, present 
at that time. This soldier was a discarded suitor of 
Nora, however, and not noted for his veracity. 

The wound was a severe one, and Boswell was still 
suffering from it when the verdict was given which 
reduced Sergeant O’Brien to the ranks. 

It was felt very desirable to substantiate beyond 
doubt the entire truthfulness of the officer’s state- 
ment, and every effort was made to induce O’Brien 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


164 

to admit that he and Nora, in their account of the 
fracas, had borne false witness against Boswell. But 
the man stoutly declared he would be flayed alive 
before he would give the lie to his own words, while 
Nora vowed by all the saints she had spoken the 
naked thruth. 

Thus matters stood for a few days, when the garri- 
son was treated to another sensation. The unhappy 
O’Brien had deserted ! At least he was nowhere to 
be found, and it was supposed that he had madly 
risked starvation on the plains or captivity among 
the Indians in his rash effort to reach the settlements, 
rather than remain and face his disgrace. And a 
party was at once dispatched to capture the deserter. 

Poor Nora was inconsolable. She indignantly re- 
fused to believe her Mick had turned deserter, and 
offered all manner of wild theories to account for his 
non-appearance. 

“ Perhaps the Indians had ‘ captivated’ him, and 
taken him off ; or, more likely, Pat Hays” (the sol- 
dier whose testimony had borne hard on O’Brien) 
had murthered him and hid the body. She knew 
he had been afther taunting him with his fall from 
rank.” 

All was consternation and confusion. O’Brien’s 
best friends were shaken in their belief of his story 
against Boswell ; for what was too bad to be believed 
of a deserter? 

Miss Kate, influenced by the firm faith of Nora, 
still hoped for some favorable solution to the mys- 
tery. Yet what was there for hope to feed on ? His 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE, 165 

death would be preferable to the certain and terrible 
punishment of a deserter. 

In the constant search kept up far and near a curi- 
ous thing was brought to light. In a hollow or 
ravine west of the post, near an old live-oak tree, 
were found an arrow and a scrap of bead-embroidered 
buckskin, evidently torn from the leggin of an In- 
dian. 

Mrs. Duval had need of all her patience to put up 
with the vagaries of her nurse. The baby’s frock 
was often put on wrong side out by accident, and 
left so for luck. The flannels were starched as stiff 
as boards, while the collars and cuffs, which it was 
Nora’s business to “do up,” were left as limp as wilted 
leaves ; while the staunchest colors in the muslins — 
even the national red and blue — were forced to run by 
the deluge of boiling suds intended for the flannels. 
Soda found its way into the baby’s milk instead of 
sugar, until the child fizzed and foamed like ginger- 
pop. Miss Cecilia complained that her food was 
salted with Nora’s tears. 

At length, when she handed the baby at table in 
place of hot buckwheat cakes and carefully laid the 
cakes to rest in the cradle. Captain Duval thought it 
time to interfere, and insisted that the demented girl 
should be excused from duty until her mind became 
more settled. 

After six days of suspense the pursuing party re- 
turned with the deserter. They had come upon him 
some eighty miles northwest of Fort Fairfax. O’Brien 
expressed himself glad to be found, and told a highly 


1 66 KATE COMERFORD; OR, 

sensational and wholly improbable tale about being 
taken captive by the Indians. 

“ Tom,” said Mrs. Ashbur, who was watching that 
young gentleman as he stirred his third cup of coffee, 
— Heron had been one of O’Brien’s captors, and this 
was his first leisurely and hot meal within six days, 
— “ how does he account for his disappearance ?” 

‘^Another lump of sugar, if you please, Cousin 
Kate” (for of course Kate had hurried over to hear 
the news from Tom’s own mouth) ; “ ‘ leave but a kiss 
within the cup and I’ll not ask for wine,’ and I’ll 
hand over the kiss to Hawthorn or Volney, just as 
you say. 

“Aunt Aggy, O’Brien is a second Munchausen. 
He wishes us to believe first that on the memorable 
night of his taking off, provoked beyond endurance 
by the jibes and sneers of his rival, he challenged 
him to a fight, and he and Pat Hays had stolen down 
to the hollow in which stands the big oak-tree to 
settle matters by a duel, without the usual impedi- 
ments of firearms or seconds. 

“ After well pounding each other with such arms 
as natured had bestowed for that purpose, — O’Brien 
claims the victory, — ^both men started to return to 
their quarters ; but of course they were not walking 
amicably arm in arm, and Pat, he -says, may have 
reached home ; but he, ‘ onlucky boy that he is,’ 
heard an arrow whiz by, and found himself seized 
from behind and gagged, lifted to a horse, and 
bodily carried off! It was not the devil that flew 
away with him (as well for him that it had been), nor 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


167 

yet St. Michael taking him off to glory before his 
time, but neither more nor less than Yellow Wolf dind 
a few other wolves of the Comanche breed. 

“ This veracious soldier further states that when 
they heard us approaching one of the Indians made 
a slash at his scalp, but missed the mark, owing 
partly to the shortness of his hair, which gave no 
holt, but mostly to the fact that his hand, which he 
had managed to free from its bonds, flew up, natur- 
urally, and held ‘the place where the wool ought 
to grow.’ In proof, he showed his still bleeding 
fingers.” 

‘‘/believe every word,” said Kate, with emphasis. 

“ Well, my dear, if your hope and charity are as 
active as your faith, you are almost an angel.” 

“ At any rate, Tom,” remarked his aunt, “ the 
arrow and scrap of buckskin found under that very 
oak-tree would thus be accounted for.” 

“ A very pretty bit of circumstantial evidence,” re- 
plied Mr. Heron ; ‘‘but what is to hinder them being 
left there a month ago, when the Comanches hon- 
ored us with a friendly visit to beg a little sugar for 
their mint-juleps? But I must tear myself away, 
ladies, as every one is waiting to interview me. 
Thanks ; no more at present” (as Miss Kate offered 
to refill his empty cup). “ That delicious coffee has 
done my very soul good. By-bye.” And Tom 
pushed back his chair, seized his hat, made a low 
bow, and hurried out. 


JirATjE COMERFORD; OR, 


1 68 


CHAPTER IX. 

Miss Kate/’ said Nora Ryan (who had persuaded 
the young lady to go with her to the chapel to pray 
for her lover’s deliverance), as they sat together on 
the door-sill of the little building after their devo- 
tions, Nora’s votive-candle burning mildly on the 
altar, — “ Miss Kate, you know how they serve de- 
serters ? though he niver bemeaned himself to that 
depth o’ depravity. Their heads are shaved on one 
side; they are lashed like slaves, branded on the 
back with the letter Z>; and, as if that was not shame 
enough to kill a dog, much less a man, they are 
drummed out of the garrison to the tune of the 
rogue’s march. I am told there is niver a hope for 
O’Brien. Is there any call for an innocent man to 
endure all this disgrace when a drop of poison or the 
stroke of a dagger would save him ?” 

“ Nora, poor child, grief has made you wild,” said 
Miss Comerford, pressing the girl’s hands in her 
own, while the tears streamed from her lovely eyes. 
“ Would you have the man you love ruin his immor- 
tal soul that he may escape from an unjust, most 
unjust, punishment? Remember who bore stripes 
and scorn for our sake.” 

“ But I will save him the sin,” said Nora, eagerly, 
her eyes flashing ; “ he need not even have the sin of 
consenting to my act. I have the heart to give him 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


169 

the death-blow with this hand rather than he shall 
live in disgrace. I shall have time to repint. The 
rest of me days shall be spent in a convent, praying 
for his soul and me own.” 

No sisterhood would admit you with your blood- 
stained hands. Would O’Brien, think you, accept 
such a wicked sacrifice ? Nora, dear Nora, pray that 
you be kept from this awful temptation.” 

The two girls talked earnestly for full half an hour 
longer; and a pretty picture it was to see them, 
framed in by the chapel-door, for Nora was a regular 
Irish beauty, with rosy cheeks, large blue eyes, and 
jet-black, wavy hair. 

They met again later in the evening, and con- 
tinued that conversation. Indeed, I will not assert 
that Nora did not pass that night in Miss Comer- 
ford’s room, in order to bring the argument to a con- 
clusion, if possible. And thus it ended : 

“ I will risk it for your sake, Nora,” said Miss 
Kate, having at length arrived at a determination. 
“ We cannot easily make matters worse than they are 
at present.” 

” May the saints make your bed in glory. Miss 
Kate ! May its sheets be of rosedeaves and the 
blankets of silk !” 

When Kate next saw her cousin she said, smiling 
sweetly, “Cousin Tom, if you will bring me your 
best coat I will darn that snag in the sleeve. I can 
mend more neatly than the tailor. And you may as 
well bring your cloak at the same time : I noticed 
the lining was badly ripped.” 

H 15 


1^0 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


“I will, thanks. But what makes you so very 
kind, all of a sudden ? Are you doing this for a 
penance ?” 

Kate laughed and blushed, but answered not. 

“ Oh, well, Kate, I am willing you should make 
me a stepping-stone on your road to heaven.” 

Mrs. Ashbur and Kate also held a prolonged in- 
terview, in which the elder lady for a long while 
withstood the younger, positively refusing to aid or 
abet in some scheme the latter was urging. 

“Impracticable! dangerous I imprudent! impossi- 
ble !” were words which struck in vain against Kate 
Comerford’s headstrong determination, until, finally, 
if this debate had aught to do with religion, St. 
Catherine overcame St. Agnes. 

A hat, sword, and some other articles of Captain 
Ashbur’s wardrobe were smuggled out of the house 
without leave asked of the rightful owner. 

Uncle Hector, Colonel Comerford’s body-sergeant, 
was also deprived of a suit of clothes, yet not with- 
out his full permission and full understanding of the 
use to be made of his garments. 

The eve of O’Brien’s ignominious punishment was 
at hand. A fierce Texas “ norther” was gathering 
force and furiously flapping the tent-flies. There 
was no moon, and the scudding clouds intercepted 
much of the starlight. 

The guard-house was a stout log building, which 
certainly had never before, in its short existence, held 
within its four rough walls a man so miserable as the 
one who now walked its floor bemoaning his cruel 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


17I 

fate, with every now and then a prayer for aid trem- 
bling on his pale lips. 

The sentinel, pacing to and fro in front of the door, 
was greatly surprised at the vision of Miss Nora 
Ryan, or her ghost, who begged to be permitted 
speech of the prisoner. 

“ I hate myself for refusing any bequest of yourn. 
Miss Nora, but it would be at the risk of my life to 
grant it without a permit,” said the man, politely 
touching his cap and presenting arms. 

“I understand,” said the girl, “that O’Brien is 
that weakened by his throubles that it is feared he 
will not be able to kape on his blessed feet the mor- 
row, and I have brought him something to strengthen 
him, poor lad ! I have no permit, but this much I 
have gained by dint o’ beggin’ and beseechin’ : the 
colonel has promised to send an officer down this 
very night to take O’Brien up to the chapel, to say 
there his last prayers, for I doubt he lives through 
it.” 

“ You are hoaxing me. Miss Nora, sure, though I 
can’t see what harm it would do to let the poor devil 
ease his mind in that way, seeing what is a-coming 
upon him ; but this is quite out of the usual line of 
my experience in army doings.” 

Nora paid no attention to this, but handed the 
sentinel a bottle, which she drew from under her 
cloak, and said, with her sweetest smile; “ Now, 
couldn’t you manage to pass this to him, to cheer 
his poor soul at such a pinch ?” 

“ A second time I must say No, though it breaks 


KATE COMERFORD : OR, 


172 

my heart entirely, I do resure you, miss,” said the 
gallant sentinel. 

Nora felt greatly relieved, for she had trembled for 
fear he should agree to her proposal, and thus defeat 
her next move. 

“ Thin just be afther taking a taste yoursilf for your 
willin’ess to oblige. I know a soldier must obey 
orders. But take a drop ; 'twill do you no bit o’ 
harrum this bitter cold night.” 

She coquettishly put the flask first to her own red 
lips, and soon had the delight of seeing it drained by 
the sentinel. 

That spirit must have been somewhat of the strong- 
est, for when, after a few moments spent in pleasant 
chat with pretty Nora, and she had taken her de- 
parture, the sentinel was hailed by an officer, who 
presented what purported to be an order from the 
colonel, he found, on striking a light to read the 
paper, that the letters danced and swam before his 
eyes in a most unaccountable manner. 

‘^This must be written in Latin,” murmured the 
dazed man, who seemed to be half asleep as he stood. 

“ Very likely,” said the clear voice of Lieutenant 
Heron. “The colonel knows you read that language. 
Don’t you remember handing him once some Latin 
verses of your own composition ? This is intended as 
a compliment to your scholarship.” 

“ Cer-tain-ly,’* said the man, who really knew a lit- 
tle Latin, of which he was rather vain, and now fan- 
cied he remembered the verses, though this had been 
only a bold flight of the imagination on the part of 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


173 

the officer, who trusted to the effects of Nora’s pow- 
erful beverage to make good his words. 

“ However, you see it is a permit to O’Brien to go 
with me to the chapel ; so open the door at once.” 

In his bewildered state nothing seemed to the sen- 
tinel at all out of the way in such an order, whereas, 
if quite sober, it would have taken more than the as- 
surance of a pretty girl, even backed by a note in 
Latin, presented by an officer, to convince him of the 
propriety of yielding up his prisoner. 

Even as it was, while he awaited their coming out, 
a glimmering suspicion stole over what was left of his 
mind that something was wrong. But the reappear- 
ance, after some delay, of the slight form, blonde 
hair, and blue eyes of Lieutenant Heron, followed 
by O’Brien, put to flight any lingering misgivings. 
Nor was the sentinel in a condition to notice that 
the muffled figure of O’Brien was clad in a shabby 
citizen’s dress, or that the effect of his short confine- 
ment had been to change his fair and ruddy com- 
plexion to the hue of the ace of spades. 

The two, walking at a brisk pace, had not gone far 
in the direction of the chapel when the officer felt a 
hand laid on his shoulder and heard the unwelcome 
voice of Paul Volney. 

“ Heron, Waters tells me you have much influence 
with your cousin. Urge her to grant me an inter- 
view. I may, any day, be ordered off on another In- 
dian scout. She has no right to avoid me in this 
way. We must come to an understanding. Thunder 
and lightning ! how dare she encourage Hawthorn’s 

15* 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


174 

attentions? Tom, you can’t imagine the feelings of a 
man who sees his own wife made love to before his 
face.” 

Here the impetuous speaker caught himself up: 
“ What have I said ? Well, you must know it soon 
or late : we were married over two years ago in 
Mexico.” 

“ That is false !” were the words which sprang to 
the lips of the mock officer, but they were checked 
in time, and amended by a hurried, — 

“ I will do what I can for you. Pray excuse me 
now; I must go on. Have an engagement.” And 
Lieutenant Volney found himself alone with his 
troubled heart. 

This double of Tom Heron soon overtook the old 
negro man, who had politely walked on while the 
gentlemen were in conference. 

“Now comes the rub,” said he; “we must pass a 
sentinel, and Nora’s precious bottle has not prepared 
the way for us here.” 

“ Halt !” cried the sentinel, “and give the counter- 
sign,” after the usual “Who goes there?” had been 
answered. 

“ Hum-hum-hum,” was the reply received. 

“ Speak louder; I don’t catch it,” said the sen- 
tinel. 

“ You fool ! would you have me inform the whole 
garrison ? Hum-um-um,” said the officer. 

“That may be the word in Choctaw, but I must 
have it in English,” insisted the stupid man. 

“Can’t you see who I am, donkey?” and the 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


175 

lifted cap showed the blonde locks and handsome 
features of the soldiers’ pet officer, young Heron. 

“ I see, sir ; but I must likewise hear,” said the 
man, touching his cap with his forefinger. 

“ Thunder and lightning T exclaimed the impatient 
young gentleman, catching up the words he had so 
lately heard from Volney’s mouth and half drawing 
his sword, with the intention of rushing past the ob- 
tuse (or too acute) guardian of the night. 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha !” laughed the soldier, lowering his 
bayonet. “ Why couldn’t you say that at first ? 
That is like your fun, now, lieutenant. To be sure, 
you might have left off the thunder ; but then, agin, 
they mostly goes together.” 

“ How do you account for that escape, O’Brien ?” 
asked the gentleman, with a sigh of relief, as the two 
disappeared in the darkness from the eyes of the still 
chuckling sentinel. 

“ You have happened on a word that resembles or 
plays upon the true pass-word,” said the quick-witted 
Irishman. “ Surely the saints prompted you.” 

The next sentinel was confidently saluted with the 
magic words, “ Thujider and lightning!'* 

A pause, full of anxiety to the fugitives, was fol- 
lowed by a “ Good ! good !. Who but you, Mr. 
Heron, would have thought of that ?” 

On they hurried, and soon encountered Nora, who 
now took the place of guide, after both she and 
O’Brien had reverently kissed the hand of his lib- 
erator as they parted for the night. 

A roundabout road was now taken, which led, not 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


176 

to the chapel, but to a sort of cave or grotto near the 
brook, which was to be the temporary hiding-place 
of O’Brien. Here Nora bade her sable lover a tear- 
ful adieu, after handing him a basket of provisions. 

Perhaps the happy girl left another little token, else 
we cannot account for her last words as she fell asleep 
that night, “ That ever I should live to be kissed by 
a nigger!” 

When the second disappearance of O’Brien was 
noised abroad no one at Fort Fairfax expressed 
greater surprise than Mrs. Ashbur, Miss Comerford, 
and the faithful Nora, though the ladies hesitated 
not to declare their hope that this time his escape 
would be made good. 

Captain Ashbur, on taking up his hat next morn- 
ing, was heard grumbling about the children being 
allowed to use it for a footstool as he tried to smooth 
out the dent in its crown. And when next young 
Heron had need of his best coat he found the rent in 
the sleeve neatly mended, indeed, but discovered one 
shoulder-strap much tarnished by some black sub- 
stance, which, he was sure, must have got on it while 
in Kate’s possession. He would not again trust his 
best suit in such careless hands. 

The story of the sentinel of the guard-house about 
a visit from Mr. Heron was only half told, for, on the 
positive denial by that officer of having been near the 
place that night, the man, dumfounded, thought best 
to keep his own counsel about his having let the pris- 
oner out on the strength of a Latin pass. Indeed, 
his doubts of the reality of the night’s vision, and the 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


177 

growing suspicion that he had been dreaming at his 
post, were almost confirmed by a conversation with 
Miss Nora Ryan, which innocent young lady exhib- 
ited the utmost indignation at the very suggestion of 
her having visited a soldier on guard as late as nine 
o’clock in the evening. He was welcome to ask Mrs. 
Duval if she was not at that very hour rocking Mas- 
ter Antonio to sleep. It was supposed that the es- 
cape had been made through the wide chimney of the 
guard-house. 

The search was thorough and long continued, but 
fruitless. And if the soldiers saw now and then, not 
far from the little cave (of which they knew nothing, 
the opening being well concealed by brush and 
weeds) the figure of old Uncle Hector in his slouched 
hat and red bandanna, under which his gray wool was 
always hidden, busy picking up firewood, what of 
that? Who could for a moment suspect the pres- 
ence of O’Brien under that sable mask ? 

As the search grew warmer, the hermit was smug- 
gled into the very place apparently most dangerous 
for him, and for that reason least liable to be searched, 
— the kitchen of the commanding officer of Fort 
Fairfax ! 

One day noticing a soldier, Pat Hays, approaching 
the kitchen, and fearing lest he should recognize his 
old enemy, Miss Kate called hastily to Uncle Hector, 
and, putting into his hands a waiter holding a steam- 
ing bowl of lemon-punch which she had been pre- 
paring for her father’s bad cold, she directed him to 
carry it to the colonel’s room. 


m 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


178 

This was done under the very nose of Pat Hays, 
the seeming old man brushing him by as he entered 
the kitchen-door. 

Colonel Comerford, sitting half-asleep in his loung- 
ing-chair, was rather surprised by the awkward way 
in which the hot punch was splashed over the waiter, 
and would have been still more astonished could he 
have seen how the scalding fluid changed the very 
color of old Hector’s hands. 

“ Hector,” said the colonel, who had been indulg- 
ing in reminiscences of his youth, at which time he 
remembered Hector as a man in his prime, how old 
are you ?” 

“ ’Bout one hundred, master,” answered O’Brien, 
devoutly wishing he were a thousand, and dead and 
decently buried. 

” Of course. No veteran of your color ever ac- 
knowledged to less than a century or two. I have 
been recalling incidents of some fifty years past ; but 
I dare say your memory reaches as far back as — the 
siege of Troy, Hector, son of Priam !” 

A low bow and a shuffling exit comprised all the 
answer deigned by this valiant Greek, who gratefully 
blessed his stars that he had not been addressed as 
“Michael, son of Patrick O’Brien!” 

“ What can have come over old Hector?” said his 
master, between sips of the delicious compound sent 
him by his thoughtful daughter. “ Any allusion to 
old times is usually sufficient to open the sluices of 
his voluminous memory, and bring down on me the 
pedigree, birth, death, and acts of all the Comerfords 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE, 


179 

since the flood. He must be ailing. I must have 
daughter Kate make some of her healing messes for 
him. 

What a blessing and what a trouble that dear girl 
is to me, — no mother to watch over her !” Here the 
father sighed deeply, thinking of the lovely young 
wife who had faithfully followed his rough fortunes, 
until she breathed her last on the lonely Canadian 
frontier. 

“ With just enough spirit and thoughtlessness to 
make the doing of silly and romantic things possible, 
here is my poor Kate with no one but a clumsy old 
father to look after her.” 

Ah, little did he imagine the two escapades already 
indulged in by his blue-eyed beauty. 

“ Does she care for any of these epauletted, pov- 
erty-stricken youths who are forever hovering around 
her, jealous, I do believe, of every smile or kiss she 
bestows on her old father? At Knocktin I feared 
Volney, with his sprightly ways, good looks, and ac- 
complishments, — the young dog sings a splendid 
song, — and especially his headlong style of love- 
making, had touched her girlish fancy. But now she 
evidently shuns his society. And her conduct is 
either breaking his heart or spoiling his temper, for 
all of the old spirit and animation seem to have left 
him. 

“ There’s Hawthorn,” continued the colonel in his 
soliloquy ; “ fine mind his, and better cultivated than 
usual with army men. Does the young fellow think 
I am blind or vain enough to believe his love of 


l8o KATE COMERFORD; OR, 

chess and of my own good company brings him so 
often to my tent ? If he had anything independent 
of his commission, or if I had been able to lay by 

enough to give them a decent start in life There 

is no telling : Kate might do worse. 

“ As to the lave of them, I’d take old McBriar for 
a son-in-law rather than trust one of them.” 

A train of wagons was on the eve of leaving for 
San Antonio, and old Hector (the genuine African 
this time), who had managed to keep himself hidden 
in odd corners while his shadow walked abroad, came 
forward with the request to be permitted to go to 
“ Santone” for a few weeks’ visit. He longed to go 
to church once more “ ’fore he should be called to 
wade through Jordan to the New Jerusalum.” 

Of course, the old man was welcome to make this 
pilgrimage. And so he bade farewell, with promises 
of offering many prayers for master and Miss Kate. 

That morning a small party had assembled on the 
hill, near the chapel, to see the long train of wagons 
pass by on their way to that Mecca of Texas soldiers, 
San Antonio. The road they were watching wound 
along the green prairie some forty rods distant, and 
below the station taken by them. 

“Oh, I forgot to tell Uncle Hector good-by!” 
suddenly cried Clay Ashbur, starting on a run down 
the slope towards the wagons. 

“ Come back. Clay 1” called his mother. “ Do stop 
him, George,” appealing to her husband in most un- 
accountable agitation. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. jgi 

“ Why should I prevent the boy bidding farewell 
to the old man, who has always been so kind to him ? 
One would think Hector had the plague, to hear you, 
Agnes, I shall run down myself for the same pur- 
pose as Clay.” 

As Captain Ashbur started for the train. Miss 
Comerford, who was standing on a log, slipped off 
with a scream, which she hoped would call back the 
departing gentleman to her assistance. He stopped 
for a moment and turned about; but, seeing that 
young Heron was supporting his cousin, resumed 
the race. 

Tom, in return for his anxious inquiries about a 
sprained ankle, received a pinch and a sharp reproof 
for his awkwardness in hurting her foot, and could 
only conjecture that he had offended by coming to 
the rescue, instead of Hawthorn, who, standing far- 
ther off, was a moment too late. 

Now, Nora Ryan, who was stationed some little 
distance nearer the passing train than were the party 
on the hill, noticed Captain Ashbur running due east, 
and just at that moment saw something that caused 
her to run as fast as she could due south. And thus 
it naturally fell out that their paths intersected, and 
nothing was more natural, under the circumstances, 
than that Nora should stumble and fall, and the gal- 
lant captain go, headforemost, over the barricade thus 
presented. 

‘‘ What the devil was that for ?” cried he, getting 
on his feet again. But, seeing Nora still prostrate, he 
paused to see if she were really hurt, and, meantime, 

i6 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


182 

the train moved on, leaving his parting words to 
Uncle Hector unsaid. 

Nora’s hands were over her face, which was flushed, 
and she was shaken by a convulsion of pain,— or 
could it be laughter? She did not speak at first; 
indeed, the rack could not have drawn from her the 
true answer to the captain’s first question of “ What 
was that for f 

Certainly Mrs. Ashbur and Miss Kate were indulg- 
ing in a burst of merriment which the gentleman 
considered quite disproportionate to the humorous 
side of his mishap. 

A scene of some interest was also transpiring, at 
this time, beside the rear wagon of the train. Aunt 
Phebe had gone down to see her old friend off (for 
good reasons the ladies and Hector had confided their 
secret to her). 

“Farewell, Uncle Hector; when you get to your 
destitution send me a letter,” shouted Phebe, as she 
pressed into his hand a small bag of coin (Texas knew 
no paper money at that date), given her for this pur- 
pose by Miss Comerford. A good portion of Nora’s 
wages was also in that bag, for O’Brien must find his 
way out of the country with as little delay as pos- 
sible. 

“ Good-by, Uncle Hector,” screamed Clay, who 
had just reached the wagon, throwing his arms 
around the old man’s neck. “Oh, jiminy!” he 
screamed, starting back. “You are not Uncle 
Hec ” 

“Whist, Clay, me boy! Don’t you know me?” 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


183 

said the voice of O’Brien, as he pressed the boy to 
his breast to smother his utterance. “ I am fleeing 
for dear life, Clay, and one word from your mouth 
will ruin me intirely.” 

“ ril never betray you, O’Brien,” whispered the 
boy. They may cut my tongue out first.” 

Down he hopped, and sang out, as the train 
moved on, so that all might hear: “Good-by, and 
come back soon. Uncle Hector.” 

“ Bless my boy ! he’s got sense,” said Phebe, with 
her apron to her tearful eyes. 

And when he returned slowly towards them with- 
out a word of his discovery, though his mother saw 
from the expression of his face that he knew all, she 
and Kate also blessed the boy in their hearts. 

Clay was next seen to enter the chapel and kneel 
down. He was asking for strength. to keep his word, 
and also offering an earnest petition for the fugitive’s 
safety. 

Perhaps the driver of the wagon in which O’Brien 
made the trip to San Antonio could not distinguish 
Hibernian from African, even when under his very 
nose ; or, it may be, his eyes had been blinded by a 
little gold-dust and a good deal of blarney from Miss 
Nora. At any rate, he attended to the wants of his 
passenger himself, and as old Hector was ill-disposed 
(as he said), and inclined to sleep most of the day, 
the other teamsters saw very little of him, except at 
night, by the doubtful light of the camp-fires. If 
any one suspected the disguise, certainly no one felt 
called on to interfere, or wished to be the means of 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


184 

sending back to a terrible punishment (and, as many 
thought, an unjust one) a man much beloved by his 
comrades. 

The earnest prayer of Clay Ashbur was answered : 
O’Brien never suffered the punishment of a deserter. 

Not many years later his innocence was fully estab- 
lished. A captured Comanche told the story of 
O’Brien’s seizure by a party of Indians, and also told 
of the soldier’s indignant refusal to act the part of 
traitor in leading his own people into an Indian am- 
bush, which service was to have been the price of his 
own release. That O’Brien had spoken the truth and 
Boswell the lies in regard to the provocation offered 
and the knocking down of the latter also leaked out 
in course of time. 

The day after the departure of the train old Hector, 
who had been playing hermit in the cave for some 
days, was seen coming slowly along the San Antonio 
road back to Fort Fairfax with his bundle on his 
shoulder. His master was informed that he had 
changed his mind and concluded to return, owing to 
a dream, and was determined to stay by the side of 
Miss Kate, for fear the Indians should carry her off 
if he were not by to defend her. 

Miss Comerford, on thinking over her meeting with 
Mr. Volney on the night of the rescue, could come 
to only one conclusion : the unfortunate Paul had 
certainly lost his senses. His fancying an engage- 
ment so binding as to admit of no possible rupture 
— for had he not declared, on the night of Mrs. Sil- 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 

vers’s party, that he could not release her? — was 
strange enough ; but to have the audacity to claim 
her as his wife 


CHAPTER X. 

Christmas was near at hand. Beautiful hymns 
were being practised by the children, for the day 
was to be duly honored, — at least, as well as that 
happy and holy day could be kept where all the 
solemn and impressive rites of the Church must be 
dispensed with. No priest had ever visited this wild 
region. There would be no glorious midnight mass, 
no benediction. 

Before or about the coming Easter it was hoped 
that a priest could be spared for a short visit from 
San Antonio. Children were looking forward to that 
time for making their first communion, and at least a 
dozen babies awaited baptism. All who could be 
pressed or coaxed into the service were busy in 
Christmas preparations. 

Even an old Indian, of a religious turn of mind, 
on the last visit of his people to the post, had been 
so struck by what he heard of Christmas and Santa 
Claus that he begged to be permitted to take up his 
quarters near the soldiers, and wait to see the great 
Santa Claus. He seemed to be in doubt whether the 
coming Christmas was a tree which should spring 
miraculously from the ground, or a great bird which 
1 6 * 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


1 86 

was to come down from the heavens bringing gifts 
to men. And the soldiers, instead of instructing his 
ignorance, amused themselves by filling his mind 
with uncouth legends. 

This man was not a Comanche, but had belonged 
to some milder-mannered tribe, having been taken 
captive in his youth. As he was now old and of lit- 
tle use to them, the Comanches readily consented to 
let him spend his Christmas holiday at Fort Fairfax. 

He made himself useful by bringing in evergreen 
branches and vines, which the ladies wove into gar- 
lands for the decoration of their tents and of the 
chapel. The Christmas-tree was to be no cut-off 
affair, stuck in a tab, but a genuine growing tree, on 
whose boughs should hang numerous Chinese lan- 
terns. 

Mrs. Ashbur’s pretty carpet was covered with the 
verdant spoils of the wood. Mrs. Silvers, Miss Com- 
erford, and the children, assisted by Nora, whose 
cheeks had regained their color, were all at work, 
some of them seated on the floor. 

Cindy, with her charge, little Willie Ashbur, crow- 
ing in her arms, was showing her white teeth in broad 
smiles as she permitted the boys to make a living 
Christmas-tree of her by wrapping her round and 
round with the woven evergreen garlands, and 
sticking sprigs of them in her woolly head. 

“Miss Kate,” said Alcibiades Duval, “you ought 
to have been at Dr. McBriar’s dinner last evening, 
and heard the gentlemen telling yarns about the 
Mexican war.” 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 

“ And pray, Master Alcy, who gave you an invita- 
tion to that dinner ?” inquired Mrs. Ashbur. 

“ Oh, us boys invited ourselves. But we only 
stood on the outside of the tent and listened to the 
toasts and the stories. Major Silvers, he told of 
how he and Captain Ashbur and Dr. McBriar and 
some others of our officers, being prisoners of war, 
were taken to the City of Mexico. This was before 
old ‘ Fuss-and-Feathers’ took the city.” 

“ Stop, Alcy ! are you not ashamed to speak of 
General Scott, our commander-in-chief, in that irrev- 
erent manner?” said Mrs. Silvers. 

“Anyhow, that is what the major called him,” 
was Alcy’s retort. 

The major’s wife, of course, could say no more. 

“ And I heard father call General Taylor ‘ Old 
Rough-and-Ready,’ and Dr. McBriar called General 
Scott ‘ A hasty plate of soup,’ ” continued the boy. 
“ They were treated dreadful. I mean the prisoners, 
not the soup. And one morning, just for devilment, 
the American officers were harnessed into the bread- 
wagon like horses, and driven through the streets to 
fetch the bread for the breakfast of all the prisoners. 
Just as they were passing through the market-place, 
the horses pretended to scare. McBriar, who was 
one of the leaders, reared up and jumped to one side, 
and the whole team, eight of them, went snorting 
and nickering and kicking and plunging from side to 
side right through the market plaza, overturning the 
stands and the old women with their bananas and 
pine-apples.” 


i88 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


'' Whew !” cried Clay and Gussy, don’t we wish 
we were there to pick up the pine-apples !” 

“Two Mexicans galloped after, on horseback, 
with their swords drawn, yelling, in Spanish, for 
them to ‘ Halt !’ But the runaway horses pretended 
not to understand their lingo,” continued Alcy. “ A 
Mexican officer, who enjoyed a full view of the race 
from his palace window, was so amused by the spirit 
of the Yankee horses that he forbade such treatment, 
and sent for the gaily horses and apologized to them 
for the bad manners of his countrymen in treating 
prisoners of war so shamefully. And so they were 
treated like gentlemen after that until they were 
exchanged.” 

On Christmas eve, of course, the children’s stock- 
ings were carefully hung up in every tent ; and, 
although some alarming doubts were entertained by 
the youngsters that Santa Claus might not find his 
way to such an out-of-the-world place as Fort Fair- 
fax, these were happily dispelled by the first dawn 
of morning. 

Alcy, Clay, and Gus were determined, they said, 
to make a Christian of old Wako, the Indian, and 
began their missionary labors by constituting them- 
selves his Santa Claus and stuffing one of Mrs. Du- 
val’s stockings from top to toe with numberless 
goodies for him, not forgetting to mix in with the 
cakes and candies a generous supply of tobacco. 

The old man was as happy as a child, and the boys 
vowed that before he reached the toe of that stocking 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 189 

he was nearer converted than if he had swallowed the 
whole catechism. 

After devouring the sweet things, Wako had re- 
marked, “ Uh ! me chuck full Christian all way up !” 

After breakfast and the usual exchange of Christ- 
mas gifts, a procession was formed, consisting of 
every child in the garrison dressed in holiday attire, 
led by Mrs. Silvers and Miss Comerford, and flanked 
on either side by a guard of soldiers in single file, all 
singing merry Christmas carols. 

This was the order of march : they went first to 
the tent of the commanding officer, halted in front, 
the soldiers fired a salute, and the children, accom- 
panied by the voices of the soldiers, sang a carol. 
In this way the tents of each of the married officers 
were visited in turn. 

Then every one turned out and followed the pro- 
cession to the chapel, singing as they went the Adeste 
Fideles. 

When the chapel-door was thrown open a really 
beautiful spectacle presented itself. The little edifice 
had been completely darkened, and was now in a 
glow of lighted tapers, evergreens, and flowers. 

In front of the altar was arranged a lovely Bethle- 
hem , — the figures all in white marble in a bower of 
evergreens. The Star of Bethlehem shone brightly, 
and a multitude of tiny white-robed angels hovered 
in the air above the grotto. 

Many of the spectators had never before beheld a 
'^Bethlehem',' and they were-impressed with its novelty 
and beauty. 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


190 

The Glona in Excelsis was sung, and many other 
Christmas hymns. Then the children intoned the 
Litany of the Name of fesiis^ and thus concluded the 
little celebration. 

“ This is certainly a great improvement on our 
usual manner of spending Christmas day in garrison,” 
said Colonel Comerford, “ going, during the whole 
morning, from house to house drinking more egg- 
nogg than we can gracefully carry off. However, 
we shall partake of a glass of egg-nogg when we 
reach my tent. But we will indulge with modera- 
tion; there is no use in going the round of the gar- 
rison.” 

On leaving the chapel, as Lieutenant Hawthorn 
stepped forward to take his place by the side of Miss 
Comerford, he was almost rudely thrust aside by 
Lieutenant Volney, who took the lady’s hand and 
placed it on his own arm, observing, 

I am sorry to offend, but this is my place.” 

Hawthorn looked at Miss Kate, that he might take 
his cue from her action ; but, to his surprise, instead 
of repulsing Volney, she walked quietly on without 
attempting to release her hand, unwilling, indeed, to 
anger him, for she was more than ever convinced 
that Paul was acting under a delusion, — a temporary 
aberration of mind. 

As soon as it was fairly dark, all the children (of 
soldiers as well as officers) were dancing around the 
great tree which stood in front of Major Silvers’s tent, 
and which was now bearing Chinese lanterns and all 
manner of queer fruit for the little ones. But the 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


I9I 

most highly prized fruit that grew on that Christmas- 
tree were the rosy-red apples which hung from its 
branches, — two for each child, the first they had 
tasted for a long, long time, and very possibly the 
last they should taste for some time to come, for 
these had been obtained in San Antonio at the modest 
price of two dollars a dozen. 

The festivities of the day wound up with a dance 
at Mrs. Duval’s, while the soldiers also held a grand 
hop in their half-finished quarters. Miss Nora and 
Bridget being the “ stars of that goodly companie.” 

Although half engaged for the first set to Mr. 
Hawthorn, Miss Kate was allowed no choice, but 
was promptly claimed for that set by Mr. Volney. 

“ Miss Comerford can plead a previous engage- 
ment,” said Hawthorn, wondering that she did not 
do so. 

“ Pardon me,” said Volney, bowing with freezing 
dignity; this (whatever Miss Comerford may 
do) will assure you that she and I are under an en- 
gagement which takes precedence of all others.” 

As Kate, pale with vexation and confusion, hastily 
said, ” I will dance this one set with Mr. Volney, 
Mr. Hawthorn,” and yielded herself to be led off 
(fearing to provoke a disturbance in a place so pub- 
lic), she heard Hawthorn say to the other : 

“ You shall answer to me for this, sir!” 

“With pleasure; all in good time,” was the stern 
reply. 

When the set was finished Miss Comerford was 
invited by her partner to take a short promenade in 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


192 

front of the tent, where all was as bright as day from 
the lights hung on the outside. 

An appealing glance from Kate’s blue eyes towards 
Hawthorn, or something he took for such, induced 
that gentleman to ask if he might bring his partner 
and join them in the open air. 

“ Come as you are, Mr. Hawthorn, without your 
partner,” said Volney; “I want you to hear what I 
have to say to this lady.” 

Had it not been for her extreme reluctance to be- 
tray to her father the mortifying story of the frus- 
trated elopement at Knocktin, Kate could, before 
this, have put a stop to this annoyance, and she now 
inwardly vowed to do so, rather than this persecu- 
tion should continue. 

As the three walked slowly about in the refreshing 
air, — the night was like one in Indian summer, and 
with no falling dew, — Volney abruptly began : 

Madam,” — he was determined not to address her 
as Miss Comerford, — will you second me in assuring 
this gentleman that any rivalry between us is out of 
the question ” 

“ And I insist that Miss Comerford be allowed to 
choose between us, for I see that whatever your claim 
may be it is evidently an unwelcome one,” inter- 
rupted Hawthorn. 

“ So much the worse for her and for myself, but 
this fact will not help you.” Then, turning to 
Kate, he passionately exclaimed, ** Were it possible, 
how gladly would I release you ! Where were our 
good angels, yours and mine, Kate, that fatal night, 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


193 

that we were permitted to commit a folly which has 
wrecked the happiness of both our lives ? Let us at 
least act as becomes rational beings now, and not, like 
children, fight against the inevitable. Have you 
nothing to say to me ?” Volney continued, after a 
pause, during which he had seemed to await a reply, 
fixing his large, sad eyes on Kate and turning very 
pale. “ All I ask is that you assure Mr. Hawthorn 
that my claim on your allegiance cannot be set aside, 
— that you have forfeited the right of choosing be- 
tween us, as he suggests.” 

I have and claim the right,” exclaimed the indig- 
nant girl, with flashing eyes. “ I disown your inso- 
lent pretensions. Surely the most solemn promise is 
not so binding as you wish me to believe that child- 
ish and soon-repented engagement. I do not choose 
between you, but I claim Mr. Hawthorn’s protection 
until I can place myself under that of my father.” 

As Mr. Hawthorn stepped quickly forward to lead 
her back into the tent, Volney standing for a moment 
as if petrified, young Heron, followed by Waters, ran 
in between the two young men. 

Heron, catching Paul Volney by the arm, insisted 
that he must speak with him on a matter of life and death. 

Mrs. Ashbur, too, appeared on the scene and hur- 
ried Miss Comerford into the house, bidding Mr. 
Hawthorn follow them. 

Waters aided Heron in urging the distracted Vol- 
ney to go at once with them to their quarters. What 
they had to say, they assured him, could not wait, 
and bore directly upon the present subject. 

I n 17 


^AT£ COMERFORD; OR, 


194 

Volney, who began to believe he must be walking 
in his sleep, turning to Hawthorn, said, “ Our engage- 
ment will keep for a few hours,” then allowed him- 
self to be hurried off between the two. 

As the three walked rapidly on, Tom Heron could 
not help contrasting their present feelings with those 
entertained when this identical trio were taking a 
very different promenade on the Mexican side of the 
Rio Grande two years before. 

He had promised his aunt to undeceive Volney 
weeks ago, but the trouble about O’Brien, together 
with Volney’s or his own absence from the post on 
Indian scouts, had interfered. However, he had 
some days before written a full account of the part 
he had played, — a most candid explanation, joined to 
wholesale apologies, — and had intrusted the important 
document to Jack Waters to deliver to his friend. 

The former, in his absent-minded way, had for- 
gotten all about the paper, never supposing it more 
than some of Heron’s doggerel lines. This unfor- 
tunate oversight had just transpired; and, observing 
the excited manner of Volney and his rival, whom 
they had been watching for some moments, the two 
officers had hastened to interfere. Certainly none 
too soon. 

“ Well !” exclaimed Volney, throwing himself into 
a chair and folding his arms as soon as Waters’s tent 
was reached. That one word seemed all of which he 
was capable, but it expressed volumes. 

“ My dear Paul, you have been shamefully treated,” 
began Jack Waters. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


195 

“No matter. What is that to you ? I shall see 
to that. Hawthorn shall give me satisfaction, the 
villain!” the angry words fairly rolling over each 
other in his agitation. 

“ I am the villain to whom you must look for sat- 
isfaction, Volney,” said Heron, looking and speaking 
seriously for once in his life. “Volney, you have 
been cruelly treated, but ” 

“ I tell you I am capable of avenging my own in- 
juries. I want none of your pity.” 

“ But I want yours,” said Tom, “ for when you 
know all, if you cannot pity and forgive a mischievous 
boy, — well, you will shoot me, that is all. And I 
will not raise a hand to save my own life, for I richly 
deserve it. I can only say that I was ignorant, at the 
time, of the magnitude of my offence. I see it now; 
and, so help me, my last practical joke has been 
played. Listen. Before we crossed the Rio Grande 
to attend the ball, Mrs. Silvers (and through her my 
aunt, Mrs. Ashbur) were in possession of your 
secret, — your intention of eloping with my cousin 
Kate. Allow me to say, Volney, that was rather 
shabby treatment of our comandante. Til be shot 
if, with all my nonsense, I would steal off with any 
man’s daughter ” 

“ Is it to listen to a lecture from this Solomon that 
I have been brought here ?” broke out Volney, in 
angry remonstrance, appealing to Waters. 

“ No, no 1” Tom hastened to say ; “ I am the culprit 
here, not the judge. These ladies, believing the col- 
onel had some rights (pardon me), and that both of 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


196 

you would in the future thank them for preventing 
this secret marriage, consulted with me, not because 
they trusted me as a Solomon, but simply because I 
was the only man to whom they could appeal. A 
word on the subject to Uncle George would have 
been all one as if spoken to the colonel. And how 
7iot to betray you and Waters to Colonel Comerford, 
and yet prevent the elopement, was the delicate 
problem intrusted to me. I saw but one means to 
that end, or, it may be, after this one took possession 
of my mind, I did not trouble myself to search for a 
better. This was to present myself in the role of the 
fair bride, while Mrs. Silvers and Aunt Agnes should 
detain my cousin in their room after enticing her 
from the ball-room. I overheard your appointment. 
I met you at the south door. This, truly, was to 
have been the extent of my masquerade. And for 
all that came after I alone am responsible, neither of 
the ladies knowing or approving of what I — prompted 
by Satan — was led on to do. Quite the contrary; 
and many are the beratings I have suffered from them 
for my pains.” 

"'Am I to credit this ?” asked Volney, again appeal- 
ing to Waters, who, between indignation at his friend’s 
treatment at the hands of this youth, joy that he began 
to see a way out of this medley of blunders, mixed 
up with irrepressible amusement at the figure he and 
Paul presented leading between them the fair Tom 
Heron as bride, stood with his big mouth half open, 
as if not quite decided whether* to laugh or cry. 
“ And you, too. Jack,” continued Paul , — "you be- 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


197 

trayed me to the women ; you lent yourself to this 
young mountebank’s plot” (shaking his fist at Tom), 
” to make me a laughing-stock !” 

Anger and wounded feelings fought for the mas- 
tery in his voice. 

“ I assure you, Volney, I, and I alone, deserve your 
displeasure. Waters was as badly fooled as your- 
self,” cried Heron. “ And to prove that you are a 
free man, that my cousin is and always has been 
simply Kate Comerford, and that I am the only Mrs. 
Volney, I herewith return to you your wedding-ring.” 
And he actually offered Volney the little gold hoop 
set with an opal which had been placed on his little 
finger on that memorable night in Mexico. 

Volney sent the ring flying through the tent-door 
out into the starry Christmas night. And if ever it 
was used again as a troth-plight, some dusky savage 
may have placed it on the hand of his fawn-colored 
bride. 

“ Young man,” said he, “ I should like to send 
you flying after that ill-omened ring.” 

“ Do, if it will ease your mind,” said Heron. “I 
deserve it.” 

“ And all this time I have been playing the fool 
for your amusement! Why the deuce, when you 
had succeeded in putting a stop to my folly, could 
you not make a clean breast of it to me, and save me 
all this perplexity ?” 

“ Because I was afraid of your wrath then, but 
trusted to the effects of time and reflection in cooling 
you off and making you aware of the gratitude you 
17* 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


198 

owe me for frustrating your — folly, as you well term 
it.” 

“ You are aware of the responsibility you have in- 
curred. You are ready, I presume, to abide by the 
consequences, for I shall call you out ; or do you ex- 
pect your boyishness to be your shield ?” 

“ I am quite ready to fight you, Volney, if you in- 
sist upon it,” said Heron, with dignity ; “ but, having 
acknowledged my fault and begged your pardon, I 
cannot see the necessity for bloodshed.” 

“ And Miss Comerford knew she was not my wife, 
— that I was being made a fool of, — and yet she said 
not one word to enlighten me or save me from mor- 
tification,” continued Paul, as if speaking to himself, 
paying no attention to Heron’s words. 

“ Paul, if I understand aright. Miss Comerford 
knows nothing whatever of the mock wedding,” 
observed Waters. 

“ Not a syllable,” said Tom. “ She, of course, has 
known she was not your wife, but neither has she 
dreamed t^t you thought her so.” 

“Then she must have thought me a madman! 
While I have been insisting upon my rights as a hus- 
band, she has surely thought I alluded to our en- 
gagement. Indeed, I believe she said as much, now 
that I look back. Oh, what a confounded mess alto- 
gether 1” 

“ Volney,” whispered Waters, taking him to one 
side, “ is it not true that your pride is more touched 
than your heart in all this ? Think of your escape. 
This fickle girl has evidently lost all affection for you. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


199 

Now, do try to be thankful that she is not bound to 
you for life. Look on the bright reverse of the 
shield : you have nothing to fear from our chief, — no 
wrong done him, to be acknowledged with shame. 
And you are free ! free to follow the bent of your 
own heart. 

“ Come now, Paul, admit that you had repented of 
that hasty step. Had not your heart slightly strayed 
from its allegiance ? Is there no sweet Virginia in 
San Antonio who will rejoice at your release, and 
whose love will doubly compensate you for the loss 
of this blue-eyed lassie ?” 

“ Jack, I have been miserable for months, — have 
been calling myself all the hateful names going, 
fickle^ dishonorable, and so on, — because, forsooth, my 
affections had inadvertently wandered from one who, 
all the time, cared naught for me, — was more fickle 
than myself. But, on my honor, if my heart wan- 
dered, my words, my actions, were ever true to her I 
believed my wife. I made no love to the one you 
call Virginia, — at least not in words : my eyes may 
have betrayed my secret. 

“ I did love that blue-eyed witch. Yes, I once 
loved her to distraction,” continued Paul Volney, 
heaving a profound sigh in memory of his dead and 
buried first love. “ But now, if I could get away 
from this hateful post without again having to face 
Kate Comerford, or — or the man she prefers to me” 
(here oozed out a little of the dog-in-the-manger bit- 
terness to which inconstant man is prone), “ I might 
yet have some peace of my life, and even be induced 


200 


A'A7E COMERFORD ; OR, 


to forego the pleasure of soundly thrashing that 
young jackanapes.” 

“ I say, Volney,” said Heron, coming forward ; “ I 
know that last complimentary title is intended for 
me. Let us cry quits. I’ll forgive you for calling me 
names, and you will forgive me for saving you your 
name intact, ready for future bestowal. Indeed, you 
owe me something, for have I not on your account 
foresworn my beloved practical jokes ? I always 
liked you, Paul.” 

Here Tom Heron held out his hand, looking so 
confident of forgiveness, so boyish in his fair beauty, 
indeed, so strikingly like his cousin, that a harder 
heart than beat in Paul Volney ’s breast must have 
felt that to bear malice for the past was out of the 
question. 

“ Go to thunder with your girlish ways !” he cried, 
giving the hand a vice-like grip by way of punish- 
ment, while good-natured Jack Waters grinned from 
ear to ear, standing over them like a benevolent, 
peace-making brownie, 

“ See here. Heron !” cried Volney, as if a sudden 
idea had struck him, “ why did you not seize the op- 
portunity of undeceiving me when I met you on the 
night of O’Brien’s escape, — you and old Hector, — 
and begged you to ask your cousin to grant me a 
hearing ?” 

“ What !” said Tom ; “ that is news to me. Why, I 
was not out ” 

Here he came to an abrupt pause, as if at least a 
dozen ideas had struck him. Then he slowly added. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


201 


Oh, well, I don’t exactly know why ; not knowing, 
can’t say.” 

With this vague and unsatisfactory reply, Tom 
Heron gave a long low whistle, and, dropping back 
into his chair, fell into a brown study. 

“ Whew !” communed Tom with himself ; “ I begin 
to scent a most astounding rodent. A fair exchange 
is no robbery. I play Kate. She borrows my coat 
to darn and dons it, and plays Lieutenant Heron; 
Uncle Hector is seen with her. Hm ! hm ! A black 
smear gets on my shoulder-strap — doubtless a bit of 
the complexion of the African O’Brien. As sweet a 
chain of circumstantial evidence as need be ! 

“ Then comes scene on the hill near the chapel : 
Departure of O’Brien in the distance. My uncle 
George starts on a run to bid him farewell. IVty 
cousin Kate tries to distract his attention by pre- 
tending to be hurt; while Nora, the plucky girl, casts 
herself bodily into the breach and effectually pre- 
vents the meeting! Only to think of it 1 a whole 
garrison of men outwitted and bamboozled by a 
couple of girls. Hurrah for them I Pll never betray 
them. But won’t I have some little fun with Miss 
Kate?” 

Tom Heron went back to the Christmas dance 
whistling as he went, — 

“ ’Tis best to be off with the old love 
Before you are on with the new.” 

Volney could not help laughing, in which he was 
heartily joined by Jack Waters. 


202 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


“Jack,” he said, “if some one else had figured as 
the hero of Tom’s comedy, I could enjoy the fun. 
What a fund of amusement I have proved to that 
harebrained boy !” 

“ Volney, our chief was thinking of sending me in 
a few days to San Antonio in command of the escort 
of the next train. I will get your name substituted 
for mine. ‘ Leave Heron and myself to explain things 
in general and settle matters with Hawthorn. Tom 
assures me that no one except Mrs. Silvers and Mrs. 
Ashbur and ourselves knows a word of this affair. 
Those ladies have not even confided in their hus- 
bands, being rather ashamed of their part in the plot, 
I fancy.” 

Volney’s several attempts to define his position 
and apologize for his rudeness in a farewell letter to 
Miss Comerford were somewhat ludicrous. One 
epistle opened with reproaches for her fickleness in 
so soon forgetting him, trusting that her present 
adorer might make haste to secure her before she 
once more changed her mind. This was destroyed ; 
and the next effort was quite confused in expression 
between an endeavor to hide from his first love his 
own want of fidelity, and at the same time to assure 
her she need not flatter herself that she had broken 
his heart. Finally he gave up in despair, threw aside 
his pen, and wisely concluded to see Kate and trust 
to his tongue to help him through the difficulty. 

When Paul Volney and Kate Comerford — the mo- 
mentous interview over — shook hands as good friends, 
both had reached the self-evident conclusion that 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


203 

no girl of sixteen or youth of twenty could possibly 
know their own minds well enough to be trusted to 
decide on the choice of a partner for life. 

Jack Waters was of opinion that the best chance 
of happiness for all parties lay in the French custom 
of allowing the parents to settle such affairs. Cer- 
tainly, after this experience, he would never meddle 
with other men’s wooings. 

Hawthorn was shocked beyond measure on finding 
that the woman to whom he had intrusted his heart 
had, at one time, been only saved from a clandestine 
marriage with another by the interference of her 
wiser friends. Perhaps the shadow of this disappoint- 
ment appeared in his manner. Certainly there was, 
for a short time, a perceptible distance and coldness 
in their intercourse. 

This sweet convent-bred flower was not, as he had 
foolishly believed, destined to yield its first perfume 
for him. Alas ! by how many thorns of reality is 
the romance of our youth beset and wounded ! 
How seldom is the beautiful heart-dream permitted 
to unfold into perfection and become a part of our 
life, — “a thing of beauty and a joy forever” ! 

Our purest earthly gems betray a flaw; our sweetest 
flowers lose their perfume or perish in the handling. 
Only one love can fully satisfy the human heart, — the 
soul. Only one can equal, can surpass all our hopes. 
In vain look we elsewhere for that perfect happiness 
for which the weary heart so yearns, — that happiness 
which in youth we almost claim as our due. Not 
in earthly love is such perfect joy to be found. 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


204 

Something is ever wanting. Oh, that we might 
early learn this truth and seek this pearl of price” 
where only it may be found, and thus open our 
hearts to receive hereafter those joys prepared for 
us of which it has not entered the heart of man to 
conceive ! 

Such thoughts awoke in the troubled soul of Haw- 
thorn. 


CHAPTER XL 

Among the books with which Mrs. Silvers and 
Miss Comerford — with sometimes the assistance of 
Lieutenant Hawthorn — entertained their pupils was 
Cardinal Wiseman’s Fabiola.” This story so took 
possession of the fancy of the soldiers that one of 
their number, a selfish and cruel fellow, was christened 
“ Corvinus.” Lieutenant Boswell, less of a favorite 
than ever, would not have been flattered, had he con- 
descended to read the book, by his alias of “ Fulvius.” 
Miss Comerford was sometimes addressed by the chil- 
dren as “ the Lady Agnes,” though the resemblance 
was not very perceptible ; while Nora refused to as- 
sume the title of” Syra” or ” Miriam :” she could not 
consent to be a slave even for the sake of winning a 
” Fabiola.” Moreover, she was no sister of the ” Ful- 
vius” of Fort Fairfax. ” Faith, an’ if she might be 
the Emperor Maximian, he should furnish a male for 
the wild bastes, if they would bemane themselves by 
eating such a dirty morsel.” 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


205 

The death of the poor blind girl on the rack 
brought tears to the eyes of more than one soldier, 
while the pathetic account of the suffering and death 
of the dear child who bore on his breast the Holy 
Eucharist, and yielded his young life rather than his 
precious trust should suffer profanation, deeply moved 
the hearts of all. Hawthorn’s voice trembled as he 
read. 

When the beheading of St. Agnes was reached, 
little Winny threw her arms around the neck of Kate 
in a transport of grief, crying that the wicked men 
should not have the head of her dear Agnes. 

“ Why, Winny, I am not in the least like St Agnes. 
I have not chosen the better part,” said Kate, caress- 
ing the child. 

“ I am glad of it,” said Hawthorn, over whose 
mind there flitted a vision of this bright young girl 
in the sombre robes of a nun; her flaxen curls 
shorn and her head covered; her thoughts with- 
drawn from earth. “You are best fitted for a life in 
the world. Indeed, I look upon this withdrawing 
from the duties and hardships of our lot as marked 
out for us by Providence, to the quiet shelter of the 
convent, as a species of cowardice, — a declining to 
put the hand to the plough.” 

“This it might be for some persons,” said Mrs. 
Silvers. “You, perhaps, fancy a nun’s life one of 
entire ease and freedom from care. You have not 
seen them at work from five o’clock in the morning 
until night, with but one hour for recreation, and 
even this sacrificed when duty calls. You do not 
18 


2o6 KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 

know how difficult it is, even for women, to be ever 
resigning their own wills to their superiors. I am 
sure I often find it hard to yield to the authority of 
my husband, especially in trifles. Remember, too, 
nuns are neither angels nor saints; and their life, 
though in the main a happy one, is yet subject to the 
worry of the variations of temper and other imperfec- 
tions of their sisters. A sister of charity, or of mercy, 
praying by the side of the dying, or presenting a 
bowl of broth to a sick soldier in the hospital, gives 
us only the romantic and pleasing side of the picture. 
But to the share of these devoted women fall all 
manner of repulsive offices and wearing cares in 
their attendance on the sick. Closing the eyes 
and performing the last services for the dead in a 
plague-smitten district is not a duty which comes 
easy to human nature. Caring for the insane, at 
risk of life or limb, with all that patience and tender- 
ness which their pitiful fate bespeaks, may be a 
glorious act in the sight of the angels of God, but 
not a duty willingly embraced by one who flies to 
the convent as a refuge from the common trials of 
life.” 

‘‘ Mr. Hawthorn, don’t you wish you had lived in 
the times of the martyrs ?” said Alcibiades Duval. 
‘‘The soldiers call you ‘Sebastian.’ Wouldn’t you 
look well stuck all over with arrows ? If I had been 
Sebastian, I should not have thanked Fabiola for 
having me brought to life and robbing me of my 
martyr’s crown.” 

“ I should have been Pancratius,” said Clay. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


207 

“ What fun he and Quadratus had pulling down the 
emperor’s edict !” 

“ But you must be killed by the panther at last if 
you are Pancratius,” said Gustavus Duval. “ Now, I 
would just have prayed for the very angel who shut 
the mouths of Daniel’s lions to come down and hold 
that panther until I could kill him.” 

” Where den would be your martyr’s crown ?” 
said old Aunt Phebe, who had joined the listening 
crowd in the chapel. 

” What I like especially about this book,” said 
Miss Comerford, “ is that throughout the Christians 
have the best of it. They escaped the traitor Tor- 
quatus in the catacombs ; the fox and the wolf were 
both outwitted and turned out in disgrace when they 
intruded into the house of Agnes; Fulvius fails in 
all his plots ; Pancratius and his friend are not dis- 
covered in their daring raid on the edict. In fine, 
the Christians even succeed in their hearts’ desire of 
gaining the crowns of martyrdom. I never like those 
novels in which the good people are continually in 
trouble, and the wicked enjoying the best of every- 
thing, up to the end of the third volume, when they 
are mercifully killed off, instead of being made to 
suffer for their misdeeds in this world.” 

Soon after this discussion on “ Fabiola,” the boys 
arranged a play. 

” Clay,” said Alcy, “ let us play martyrs. I will 
be Pancratius, and give all my jewels and plate to 
be divided among the poor, — that is, I’ll give my 


208 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


mother’s. If she is not willing, she ought to be. 
Christians ought to be as charitable now as in the 
old times. After that, I will be Quadratus, and you 
may be Pancratius, and Gussy shall be the barbarian 
sentinel that guards the edict.” 

“ And Winny shall be — not St. Agnes, because we 
cannot cut her head off, but — ^Joan of Arc. I ’spose 
she lived about the same time,” said Clay. 

“ We will build a funeral pie and tie her to the 
stake, and make believe to burn her alive.” 

It so happened that the flag-staff had fallen, struck 
by lightning some thought ; struck by a heavy wagon 
drawn by a runaway team of mules was the more 
likely solution. At any rate, while a new pole was 
being prepared, a temporary one, a tent-pole, not 
more than twelve feet in height, had the honor of 
bearing the Stars and Stripes. 

This flag, these audacious aspirers after martyr- 
dom thought, would answer, upon a pinch, for the 
emperor’s proclamation. 

But first, taking in charge his mother’s box of 
jewelry, without leave asked, for fear she might fail 
to emulate the ancient Christians in generosity, Al- 
cibiades, in his role of Pancratius, followed by his ad- 
miring friends, delivered the contents to the poor at 
the house of Agnes. This house was represented 
by a hollow stump of a tree near the chapel. The 
ants and grasshoppers played the part of the poor 
people, and would have been more grateful for a few 
crumbs than for the shining rings, bracelets, and 
necklaces that greeted their astonished eyes. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


209 

Then Quadratus and Pancratius (Clay Ashbur 
acted the latter this time), following, as closely as 
possible, the manoeuvres of their prototypes, climbed 
the flag-staff, being assisted by the traitorous sen- 
tinel Gussy ; and these lads actually succeeded in 
cutting the flag from the pole and making off with it. 
The sentinel (Gus) could not be persuaded to remain 
at his post to answer the inquiries of Corvinus. 

The flag, or proclamation, was destined to be 
burned in the house of Diogenes ; but, no matches 
being at hand, it was carefully buried. 

Winny, as Joan of Arc, was to be the next victim, 
and she was led by her captors to the funeral pyre. 
A bright tin bucket was her helmet, and the top of 
the bucket formed her breast-plate. This second 
play was acted after dark of a starlight night in the 
lignum vitce grove. The Maid of Orleans was bound 
to the stake ; Gus Duval delivered a most touching 
funeral oration, while Clay and Alcy made believe to 
light the fagots. Unfortunately, a lighted match fell 
from their hands on the dried leaves. In a moment 
the twigs were in a blaze; Winny’s apron caught 
fire, and the child would certainly have perished had 
not a tall figure, which had been watching their 
movements, sprung forward, thrown his cloak over 
her, and snatched the screaming child from her im- 
pending fate. 

“You young scamps!” cried the sonorous voice 
of Lieutenant Boswell; “you ought to be flogged 
alive. What deviltry will you be at next. Begone 
home !” 


8 * 


210 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


Oh, Mr. Boswell,” cried Winny, *'dey did not 
mean to hurt me ; we’s des been payin’ martyrs.” 

Here ends the act of the Texas martyrs, for 
when the stolen flag was traced to their hands their 
angry papas took the place of the emperor’s execu- 
tioner, and the punishment was so severe that, as 
Alcy afterwards remarked to his fellow-sufferers, he 
thought the wild beasts had got him sure. 

Tom Heron said that the poor boys got all the 
stripes, while Mr. Boswell walked off with the stars, 
for the ladies would gladly have bestowed on him 
the order of the Star and Garter in gratitude for Win- 
ny ’s rescue. 

With little Winny and the dishonored flag occu- 
pying the foreground, Mrs. Duval made no complaint 
about her jewelry, especially as it all came to light 
the next day, strung about the neck of the old Indian, 
who supposed Santa Claus had left it in the stump 
for him. He willingly resigned it for some tobacco 
and a red blanket. 

It was early on one cool evening in January. Mrs. 
Ashbur and Miss Comerford sat at their sewing, 
drawn up before the fire in the tent of the former. 

Clay and Winny were in the bedroom, and were 
heard, through the curtain which divided the rooms, 
chattering away as they cracked and ate pecans. 
Little George was asleep on the hearth-rug at his 
mother’s feet, while the baby slumbered peacefully 
in his crib, near which, on the floor, also asleep, lay 
his nurse, with one hand still grasping the rocker. 

« 19* 


SKETCHES OF GAFF ISO JV LIFE. 


2II 


Mrs. Ashbur,” said Miss Kate, dropping the 
dress sleeve on which she had been sewing and gaz- 
ing into the fire as if the bright coals had awakened 
the idea, “ there is one heathen custom it is a pity we 
cannot revive, — that is, reversing the parties. What 
a sensible arrangement it would be if, when a man is 
left a widower, he should permit himself to be de- 
cently burned on his wife’s funeral pyre, instead of 
living to make a fool of himself and being a bother 
to all the young girls around him !” 

“ What now ? Has Rubenstein been proposing by 
‘ epistolary word of mouth,’ as Aunt Phebe says ?” 

“ Worse ! I did not know the former Mrs. Ruben- 
stein ; and I can imagine a girl accepting a widower 
under such circumstances, for she would only think 
of her predecessor as a shadow or myth, just as I 
only half believe in the reality of the existence of my 
little sister, who died before I was born. But how a 
man whose wife I have known and loved so recently 
can expect me to take her place is beyond belief.” 

“You do not mean to say that Captain Francisco 
has been courting you !” exclaimed Mrs. Ashbur. 

“ Not at all. He has dispensed with the usual for- 
malities, and popped the question without giving me 
the slightest warning. Having gone through the 
ordeal of courtship once, he perhaps thinks that 
should suffice for a lifetime, as one preface serves for 
all the volumes of a book.” 

“ While you think courtship, like grace before 
meat, should be repeated each time,” said Mrs. Ash- 
bur. 


212 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


“ Certainly, though not in the same form of words. 
He throws his heart (what is left of it), his sword, 
and his child at my feet. Very much mistaken is 
Captain Francisco if he fancies I take this as a com- 
pliment. He wants a mother or governess for his 
daughter, and I am honored because he has no 
choice.” And Kate tossed her curly head. 

“One might well do worse than to accept him; 
and any number of girls to choose from would prob- 
ably make no difference in the result. He is kind- 
ness and honor personified, and is quite free from one 
fatal habit only too prevalent among army officers, — 
gambling. A woman whose husband is guiltless of 
this vice is spared many hours of anguish. Nothing 
more effectually vitiates the taste for simple home 
joys and amusements. It is a passion which under- 
mines and usurps the place of family affection. I 
sometimes think it even more debasing to the spirit 
than love of drink.” Mrs. Ashbur, unconsciously, 
spoke with such feeling that her deductions seemed 
drawn from personal experience. 

“ He is good-tempered, too,” she continued. “ Kate, 
whatever you do, never marry a passionate man. 
Our neighbor, Mrs. Brown, has that cross to bear; 
and I often think the constant turmoil that man keeps 
up at home is one thing that has driven her to the 
dangerous pastime of flirtation as a means of forget- 
ting home troubles. He once, not long since, flew 
into a towering passion with his wife, and pitched the 
glass of lemonade she was handing him through the 
window, breaking a pane of glass, which cannot be 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


213 


replaced for weeks, all because he could not find his 
sash, which was at that very moment hitched on to 
his coat-button and trailing behind him as he stalked 
up and down the floor. 

“ When we were first married, George was some- 
what given to these little outbursts of temper, but I 
soon cured him. Coming home one night out of 
humor, instead of thanking me for keeping his sup- 
per hot, he vented his spleen on the unoffending tea- 
pot by kicking it into the fire. I knew he did not 
care much for tea at supper when good rich milk 
could be had. So, after emptying the hot biscuit 
and fried oysters on the coals, I deliberately poured 
over them the pitcher of milk, at the risk of drying 
up the cow, as a libation to the Furies, as I quietly told 
George. I have not lost a teapot in that way from 
that day to this. 

Once at table he so far forgot himself as to throw 
a plate of buckwheat-cakes at Aunt Phebe’s head 
because they were not as hot as his temper. As luck 
would have it, an orderly entered our dining-room 
with a message from the commanding officer just at 
this auspicious moment. Pretending to mistake him 
for the waiter, I threw the plate of butter at his head, 
scolding him sharply for putting strong butter on the 
table. My husband’s astonishment left no room for 
his anger. I find holding up the mirror thus to let 
him see how ridiculous we become while giving way 
to passion has been of great service. 

“ But I beg Captain Francisco’s pardon. If you 
decline the honor of being Winny’s step-mamma. 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


214 

there is no more to be said. Perhaps you have de- 
termined to hedge yourself about with Hawthorn, 
and leave the rest of the bachelors in despair ? Or 
have you nipped even those blossoms in the bud ? I 
have fancied a coldness between you of late.” 

“ That Hawthorn has been touched by a hoar-frost. 
The man is too nearly perfect to tolerate the faults of 
less favored mortals. The least speck of dust on the 
lily obscures all its purity in his eyes. With thoughts 
fixed on some perfect posy painted by his imagina- 
tion, he stumbles over the humble flowers in his 
path,” said Kate, with some bitterness. 

” While seeking the cold and brilliant diamond, he 
fails to secure the opal with its heart of fire,” said 
Mrs. Ashbur. “ The moral to be drawn from all 
these similes is this : Let not pride and resentment 
stand in the way of happiness when the diamond- 
seeker shall return to beg for the opal.” 

The maiden blushed ; she had not thought to be 
so quickly comprehended. 

“ Has the doctor retired hopeless ? I believe the 
old gentleman has been all along in dead earnest, 
though he has thought best to wear a half-jesting 
mask, that in case of defeat he might retire without 
too great a shock to his dignity,” observed Mrs. Ash- 
bur, to change the subject. 

“ He perseveres with a devotion worthy a better 
cause. After explaining to me all about the action 
of the human heart, its pulsations, etc., and proving 
the impossibility of breaking that organ (though it 
was quite possible to make it bleed, as I often did 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


215 

his !), and how an accumulation of fat, which smoth- 
ered the heart, was often taken for the effects of love, 
he metaphorically took his heart in his hand and 
presented it to me. ‘ Take it. Cousin Kate,’ cried 
Tom, ‘and let us dissect it and see how many im- 
pressions of pretty girls are imprinted thereon ; a 
whole photograph-gallery. I’ll be bound.’ 

“ On my declining to receive the valuable gift, as I 
had no suitable urn in which to preserve it and it 
was too inflammable to be left about the house, — he 
said it was already preserved ^ — he offered it as a sweet- 
heart ; and I ought not to look a gift horse in the 
mouth !” 

“ Dare, Clay !” little Winny was heard to say, “ did 
not I tole you when I give you dat candy horse you 
ought not to took his head in your mouf? You 
hear what de doctor say ?” 

“ Oh, you don’t understand, Winny. Dr. McBriar 
talks what papa calls metaphysics. But I, when I 
grow up to be a navy officer, will bring you home 
diamonds as big as your head, and opals with fiery 
hearts, and posies and lilies without any dust on 
them.” 

“ Those terrible infants !” exclaimed Kate. “ Have 
they been listening to our whole conversation ? It 
is to be hoped that my reflections on the introduction 
of the suttee escaped them.” 

“ Children, it is time for you to be asleep. Wake 
Cindy, and let her undress you,” said Mrs. Ashbur. 


2i6 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


CHAPTER XII. 

Lieutenant Hawthorn and Colonel Comerford 
had resumed their games of chess, but of late, read- 
ings had sometimes taken the place of the game. 
Hawthorn read well, — a rare gift. The book in hand 
this evening was the last volume of the “ Marble 
Faun,” by the reader’s namesake. 

“ A rare and wonderful genius, this Hawthorne !” 
said the colonel. “ What grace and purity of style !” 

“ One of the few truly original writers America 
has produced,” said Hawthorn, keeping his place 
with his finger between the leaves. “ Not one of 
your surface writers. How ingeniously the mystery 
about Donatello’s ears is preserved. To the last we 
are left in doubt if he be quite human.” 

“ The most pathetic scene to me is where Dona- 
tello, after his fall, fails in his endeavor to call to him 
the wild creatures of the woods, — ‘ the furry and 
feathered people.’ He sobs: ^ Death ! death! they 
know it / They shun me ! all nature shrinks from me, 
and shudders at me. I live in the midst of a curse that 
hems me ro7md with a circle of fire. No innocent thing 
can come near me! ” quoted Kate. 

“ If Donatello,” said Hawthorn, who was reading 
the book for the first time, “ is a type of man before 
and after the fall, are we to infer that through repent- 
ance man is gifted with a higher degree of intelligence, 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


217 


a greater capacity for happiness, than would have been 
ours had we remained in a state of innocence ? Mir- 
iam says, ‘She who beguiled him into evil might 
guide him to a higher innocence than that from which 
he fell.’ ” 

“ In the last pages of the book, which I have 
glanced over,” said Miss Comerford, “ I see that Ken- 
yon has anticipated you in making these deductions, 
and thereby has greatly shocked Hilda. But I see 
not why Almighty God might not thus bring good 
out of evil, and vanquish Satan by giving us even 
more than the Evil One had hoped, through sin, to 
deprive us of. It would seem meet that the costly 
price paid for our redemption should have bought for 
us infinitely more than would have been ours had we 
remained sinless.” 

“ These are deep subjects,” said her father. “ Who 
was Miriam ? There is a hint that she is a real per- 
sonage, although I half believed her a symbol of 
Donatello’s conscience, or of his repentance.” 

“ I cannot imagine,” said Hawthorn. “ I should 
like to have a glass of the Monte Beni Sunshine to 
wash the remembrance of that dead monk from my 
mind.” 

“ I regret that a man of such genius should have 
been so blinded,” said Kate, — “not the monk, but 
the novelist. What horrible things he says of the 
Church ! Yet what he writes of the confessional 
shows such utter ignorance that we must pardon his 
abuse on that score.” 

“ My namesake has a knack of choosing taking titles 
K 19 


2I8 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


for his works. What could be more suggestive of 
romance than “ The House of the Seven Gables” ? The 
character of Clifford Pyncheon, the worshipper of the 
beautiful, who, lacking the stamina of the martyr, was 
yet called on to endure a martyr’s fate, is most deli- 
cately delineated.” 

“ I am almost ashamed to say,” remarked Colonel 
Comerford, “ of all the characters of that book I best 
remember the aristocratic Pyncheon chickens. Kate 
has some frizzly chickens which remind me of them.” 

“I shall call them Phebe and Clifford,” said Kate, 
laughing. 

*‘The Indians are here again. Aunt Aggy,” said 
Tom Heron, “ and if you still want those moccasins I 
will bring up Black Cloud or Thunder-and-Lightning, 
or some other riming chief, to take your measure.” 

“ Do, Tom ; for my last pair of slippers is giving 
out. Kate also wants a pair ; as you pass, tell her to 
come over and be measured,” said his aunt. 

“ Prairie Dog” was the cognomen of the knight of 
the plains who condescended to be shoemaker for the 
ladies, though he, probably, only cut the moccasins 
out, and left the squaws to do the work. 

The ladies were found seated under the fly or awn- 
ing in front of Mrs. Ashbur’s tent when Lieutenant 
Heron approached, accompanied by a good-natured 
looking Indian, wrapped in a gay Mexican blanket, al- 
though the day was mild, as Easter was almost at hand. 

“ Ladies, allow me to present you a gentleman of 
the canine family. Monsieur Prairie Dog.” 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


219 


The Indian touched his forehead with his forefinger, 
as he had seen the soldiers do, and made a not un- 
graceful obeisance and said, “ How do ?” Making 
signs for the ladies to remove their shoes, he took 
their measures by simply placing the foot on a piece 
of bark and tracing the outline of the sole thereon. 

Little Winny Francisco also insisted on having a 
pair of “ beaded moccas,"' and while the red man took 
her measure she looked up into his face and said, 
“ Now don’t you ta/p my foot, Mr. Prairie Dog.” 

Little George ran away as fast as his short legs 
could take him ; he placed no faith in the friendship 
of the Indians. 

When, some days later, the moccasins were brought 
home, the amusement of the ladies equalled their sur- 
prise to find them, instead of being slipper fashion, 
made to reach above the knee. On being told that 
the continuations were superfluous, Prairie Dog said, 
“ Ugh ! Sc^ws no wear low shoe; that kind man’s 
moccasins.” But he agreed to make them some of 
the masculine kind, and the long ones, which were 
handsomely ornamented with beads and fringe, were 
kept as curiosities. 


220 


JiTATE COMERFORD; ORy 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“ Come with me, Cousin Tom,” said Miss Kate, as 
she stood in the door of her father’s tent, looking as 
cool and dewy as a posy in her blue gingham dress 
and coquettish little white apron, her straw hat in 
hand. “ I want your help in setting out the young 
trees received by the last train. We intend to have 
the grounds around the chapel as paradisaical as pos- 
sible before Easter.” 

“My dear cousin, if you had just gone through, 
the battalion drill, especially the Shanghai double- 
quick, in such weather as this and in a heavy coat, — 
why can’t those old fogies at Washington give us a 
lighter uniform for this climate? — you would feel 
more like a quiet swing in a hammock, -^jian rooting 
holes in the ground to put in trees where Nature 
never meant they should grow.” Here Tom uncere- 
moniously drew off his coat and threw himself into 
the colonel’s reclining camp-chair, which stood under 
the awning. 

“ Perhaps the doctor will not refuse to assist me,” 
said Kate, as that worthy gentleman, arrayed in full 
dress, came puffing up, flourishing his neat little sur- 
geon’s sword. 

“ Miss Kate,” he began, “ see for yourself what an 
estimate is put on my good looks and noble presence. 
Whenever the object is to make a grand and imposing 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


221 


display, the surgeon is called out to give brilliancy 
to the parade. Umph ! I could dispense with the 
compliment in hot weather. How cool you look ! 
As refreshing as a glass of lemonade.” 

“Uncle Hector,” said Miss Comerford, laughing at 
the delicate hint, “ put down your basket and tell 
Martha to make us some lemonade.” 

The old man, who was standing, spade in hand, 
waiting his young mistress’s pleasure, started on his 
errand. 

“ One would not suppose that a girl could be in- 
duced to exchange that cool and becoming costume 
for a coat like mine,” said Heron, reflectively, gazing 
at his pretty cousin ; “ yet on emergencies it has been 
done.” 

His cousin turned suddenly and looked at him, 
then quietly remarked : “Joan of Arc, for instance, 
donned a coat of mail. Do you not think her ex- 
cusable ?” 

“ When the object was to save her country, yes. 
But when the object of the masquerade is to subvert 
discipline, law, and order, and not even with the view 
of saving a lover, — at least, one’s own, — I cannot give 
my high approval to the rash act. Apropos to noth- 
ing, Kate, might not you and I get up a little drama 
in characters of the twins, Catharine and Henry Sea- 
ton? I know a Roland Graeme who could be — has 
been — completely deceived, and, as Henry Seaton 
says, in the ‘ Abbot,’ ‘ did not know the hart from 
the hind.’ ” 

“ Has Heron been playing some of his boyish 
19* 


222 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


pranks at your expense, Miss Kate ?” said the doctor. 
“ It will be a sad Comedy of Errors if you are to be 
held answerable for his doings.” 

. “ Na, na, it’s nae the hart that is in fault the day, 
but the hindl' laughed Tom. I should not care to 
be responsible for the acts of some young lassies I 
know.” 

“Tom,” said his cousin, “take this glass of lemon- 
ade — and may it choke you !” she mentally added. 
“You can have my horse for the hunt to-morrow, 
and anything else you want, if you will but hold 
your tongue.” This was spoken in an undertone as 
she leaned over him. 

“ All right. I am discretion itself ; especially to- 
wards the one now approaching.” 

Miss Comerford looked up and saw Lieutenant 
Hawthorn coming in their direction. 

“ What has kept you so long getting this lemon- 
ade. Uncle Hector?” said Miss Kate, coloring with 
vexation at her cousin. 

“ Why, you see, miss, them mischievous boys got 
at our alias and filled them with gravel and little 
fishes, making what they call a-whaleiiims of them, 
and so spiled all our cold water, and I had to borrow 
the loan of some water from Mrs. Silvers.” 

The method adopted for cooling water at Fort 
Fairfax was to keep it in very porous earthenware 
jars (alias), wrapped in wet flannel, the evaporation 
bringing the water down to a palatable temperature. 

“ Here comes the very man to assist you in setting 
out trees, cousin,” cried Tom, as the lady of the 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


223 

house welcomed Mr. Hawthorn and handed him a 
glass of their innocent beverage. “ He knows all 
about the habits of trees and shrubs. I can only 
speak from experience of the habits of the birch. In 
my youth I found it of active habit and cruel dispo- 
sition.” 

“ I know more about plants and trees than both of 
these youths put together, Miss Kate,” declared the 
doctor, with his usual modesty, jumping up. “I am 
ready to perform all the labors of Hercules for your 
sake. I dote on setting out trees. If you want, for 
instance, a hawthorn planted. I’ll dig a hole and put 
him in with the greatest pleasure in life ; though I 
would rather plant him horizontally, so he will not 
be seen above ground again.” 

“ No one can doubt your expertness, from long 
practice, in preparing the tenants of the underground 
beds, but you should not fatigue yourself by doing 
double duty, doctor,” retorted Hawthorn. 

“ It is growing late, and we have much to do,” said 
Miss Comerford; so come on. Uncle Hector, and 
as many more as feel disposed for work.” 

As the little party walked along the terrace to- 
wards its eastern slope, and then turned south and 
began ascending the hill to the chapel, Kate Comer- 
ford was wondering what effect Heron’s discovery, if 
revealed to him, would have on the mind of her fas- 
tidious lover, — whether he might regard her doings 
of that memorable night as more than dust on the 
petals of the lily ; rather as a metamorphosis of that 
sweet flower into a flaunting weed. Yet had she not 


224 


JsTATB COMERFORD ; OR, 


saved a brave man from unmerited disgrace, and a 
true-hearted girl from despair ? Did she repent now ? 
Never ! 

The shrubs and trees were already on the ground, 
and most of the holes dug. The question to be de- 
cided was where to plant each tree. 

“ These trees are emblematic,” said Mrs. Silvers, 
who, with the children, had been waiting an hour for 
Miss Comerford. “This aspen should go just here 
at the right of the door. You know the legend tells 
us that the cross was made of this wood, and ever 
since its leaves have trembled with awe.” 

“ Then shall we call these- evergreens cedars of 
Lebanon, and plant them on the north side of the 
chapel ?” said Hawthorn. 

“ The passion-flowers, which I found growing wild,” 
said Kate, “ I shall put here, so they may run over 
the aspen and climb to the roof of the chapel and 
she knelt to plant her vines, while Hawthorn and 
McBriar put in the trees, holding them upright while 
Uncle Hector shovelled the earth about the roots. 

“ The lilies of the valley — here is one in bloom — 
must grow at the foot of the aspen-tree,” said Mrs. 
Silvers. 

“ That is my emblem,” said Tom Heron, who had 
followed the party, but took no part in the labor, and 
stood with folded arms leaning against the wall, “ for 
I toil not, neither do I spin.” 

“ And here, back of the chapel, so they will re- 
ceive the eastern sun and escape the rays from the 
west, I shall put these large white lilies, — St. Joseph’s 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


225 

lilies. Will they not be lovely on the altar when 
they bloom ?” said Kate, who had finished setting 
out the vines. 

“ Let me set the blue-and-white wild daisies near 
your lilies of the valley, Mrs. Silvers,” requested Dr. 
McBriar. ” They seem to me to symbolize the 
prayers of little children.” 

Mrs. Silvers consented, with a look of surprise at 
this unexpected piece of sentiment from such a 
source. 

” Miss Kate, moughtn’t I plant some morning-glory 
seed I fetched from home, so as to have the vines 
running over the door ?. They is of a heavenly blue 
color, and opens their cups early of a morning, so as 
to take into their hearts the blessing and glory of 
the Lord. Then at night they close up, like a baby 
wrapped in its little blanket, so as to keep safe all the 
blessings they has received in the daytime.” 

“ Certainly, Uncle Hector, and I shall prize the 
morning-glory hereafter for the sake of your 
thought,” said his young mistress. 

“ If we stay here much longer we shall all become 
poets,” remarked Tom; “this must be Mount Par- 
nassus.” 

“ I should not mind being buried here, if you 
would all promise to come often and sing a hymn 
over my grave,” observed the doctor. 

“ Out of her grave there grew a red rose, 

And out of his grew a McBriar-ri-ria,” 

sang Heron. 


226 JirAT£ COMERFORD ; OR, 

“ There is another Bible plant which would be re- 
propriate here,” ventured Uncle Hector. 

No one could remember to what the old man 
alluded. 

“ That shows you Catholics don’t read your Bibles 
very careful,” said he ; “ at least that is what our min- 
isters say,” he added, in apology. ” But I tells the 
Methodists it is them as does the works of the Lord, 
showin’ marcy to the poor and feedin’ the hungry, 
more than them that only reads the good Book, 
which finds favor in the sight of Heaven. And this 
is what many Catholics do, and for these good works 
the Lord will, in his own good time, enlighten their 
ignorance. The prophet Jonah, he planted a go^ird, 
and we mought follow his example and plant another 
right here.” 

This serious proposition was received in silence, 
and lips were bitten to keep back the smiles. 

Tom came to the rescue with, “ Gourds will not 
grow unless planted by a poor man, Uncle Hector, 
and I am afraid we are all too rich to start one.” 

“ May be so,” assented the Biblical scholar. “ I’ve 
done laid up considerable of the filthy lucre for a 
rainy day myself.” 

” That is more than any of the rest of us can say,” 
said Mrs. Silvers. “Army officers, like Methodist 
preachers, are always poor, and always moving from 
place to place.” 

The children in the mean time had not been idle. 
They had made a bed near the southeast corner of 
the chapel, and had planted about a pint of pickled 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


227 

olive-seed, in the hope of raising a scriptural crop. 
Winny had also put in a few dried figs. 

“ You are the only olive-branches we can reckon on 
with any certainty,” said Dr. McBriar. “ Before your 
trees grow we shall be sent to some post hundreds of 
miles from Fort Fairfax.” 

” Then we will pull them all up,” declared Alcibi- 
ades, ” if we cannot stay to enjoy them. The Bible 
says he that plants shall gather.” 

” He who planteth pickled olive-stones shall gather 
bottles full of them in some ’future time,” asserted 
Tom. 

“ I remember how the soldiers, once, on being or- 
dered from a certain post, slipped into the gardens 
the night before leaving and pulled up the sweet- 
potatoes, though the roots were nothing but strings,” 
said McBriar. 

“ Here is my contribution,” cried Heron, who had 
exerted himself until he was red in the face in dig- 
ging up a clump of the Spanish bayonet, which he 
found growing near, and now proceeded to transplant. 
“This should claim precedence of all the rest. It 
was the first thing made use of by our very-great- 
grandparents when expelled from Eden. From that 
day to this it has been known as Adam and Eve's 
thread and needle^ though Texans call it bear-grass." 

The first time Tom found himself alone with his 
cousin he determined to satisfy his curiosity on a cer- 
tain point. 

“ Kate,” said he, “ there is one thing I should like 


228 


A'ATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


to know. How did you come by the password that 
night? Did Nora bribe some soldier to betray it?” 

“ That word is exactly what I wish you to dis- 
cover,” she replied. “ It was a mere accident. I — 
I should say, Lieutenant Heron,” and the girl smiled 
amid her blushes, did not give the precise word, but 
something that answered. The sentinels laughed 
and applauded your wit, and let us pass. The word 
given was thunder- and-lightningr 

“ Can you remember who were the sentinels ?” said 
Tom, pondering. 

“ One was red-headed and cross-eyed. I remem- 
ber I feared he was staring at O’Brien, when he was 
looking straight at me.” 

On this hint young Heron acted, and was soon in 
possession of the solution of the password enigma. 
The word had been electricity, 

“ Miss Kate, I have brought you a jar of wild 
flowers to set in your chimney,” and Nora placed the 
pot of fragrant spring blossoms on the hearth. 

Thank you, Nora,” said Miss Comerford, rising 
from the lounge on which she had been reclining, 
deeply interested in the pages of a French novel, her 
forgotten sewing having fallen on the floor, where her 
little Chihuahua dog was making an unsatisfactory 
lunch on her spool of cotton. 

“I have just been wishing for some asparagus 
boughs to fill that gaping cavity. It makes me home- 
sick to think of asparagus. My grandmother always 
kept it in the fireplace in summer, and a bunch over 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


229 

the long mirror. The white blossoms are wild-plum ; 
but what is the purple one ? That is new to me.” 

“ The soldiers call it sweet-scented buck-eyel^ said 
Nora. “ I wonder if these buck-eyes will do to keep 
off the rheumatism as well as the other kind, if car- 
ried in the pocket ?” 

“ Undoubtedly,” answered Miss Comerford. “ The 
charm will prove as efficacious as a horseshoe ever 
does to keep off witches. But what else, Nora ? I 
see you have not come simply to bring me the flow- 
ers.” 

“ Miss Kate, let me brush out your hair and dress 
it for you,” said Nora, running into the next room 
for the combs and brushes and proceeding to let 
down the young lady’s long fair tresses, which she 
began vigorously brushing. v 

” I have had a line from O’Brien,” began Nora, her 
position hiding her blushes from Miss Kate. “ He 
is in New York, and wishes me to join him. Mrs. 
Brown is going down to Santone by the next train, 
her husband being detailed for the recruiting service ; 
and I could get a place as lady’s maid, and so save 
my travelling expenses. But what reason can I make 
to Mrs. Duval for laving her? An’ sure me heart is 
heavy as lead whin I think o’ dis.sertin’ my precious 
baby. I dare not tell Mrs. Duval the thruth. An’, 
faith, I almost fear to go on to join O’Brien, lest that 
scamp. Hays, might suspect something. He is that 
hateful he would glory in the ruin of Mick. If I 
could get Mrs. Duval to turn me off and give me an 
excuse for going, that would help to throw dust in 


JiTATE COMERFORD; OR, 


230 

the dirty eyes of him. But I haven’t it in me heart 
to act in a misbecoming manner to so kind a lady as 
my mistress.” 

” Well, Nora, I think I can help you this time 
without donning Cousin Tom’s uniform,” said Kate, 
laughing ; for the thoughtless girl was not so much 
ashamed of that escapade as she should have been. 
“ I am sure Mrs. Duval can be trusted, and will be 
glad to hear of O’Brien’s safety. I will undertake to 
make mischief between you and get her to dismiss 
you. To Mrs. Brown we shall say nothing; through 
her Mr. Boswell might hear more than we care to 
trust him with.” 

I would not trust that man as far as I can toss a 
dog by the tail,” declared Nora. 

” Have you heard the news. Miss Kate?” she con- 
tinued, ready, now that her own affair was settled, to 
impart tidings which might perhaps prove of more 
interest to her companion. “ Lieutenant Waters has 
a letter from Mr. Volney, and that gentleman is 
coming back to Fort Fairfax, bringing with him his 
wedded wife. I thought he was desperately in love 
with yoursilf; at least, I know of more than one 
gentleman who was jealous enough of him. But 
that is the way with men. Let a girl refuse him, and 
he hastens to marry the first one that will have him.” 

“ To show his first love that he did not care a fig 
for her, — that is, to prove how false were all his former 
vows,” said Kate. 

“Yes, sir, Miss Comerford is in,” Uncle Hector 
was heard to answer ; and before Nora could gather 


SKETCHES OF GATE /SON LIFE. 


231 


Up the flowing tresses, Lieutenant Hawthorn pre- 
sented himself. Nora fled with the brushes, leaving 
the young lady to her own devices. 

“ ’Tis pity to imprison those tresses within a 
comb,” said Hawthorn. “ Like the hair of Berenice, 
they should be placed among the stars.” 

“ Even to attain that honor I could not consent to 
sacrifice my hair for the safety of any man living,” 
said Miss Kate, gathering up the flowing mass, whose 
pale hue caused it to resemble flax on the distaff, 
rather than gold. 

” Not even for a husband’s sake, as did Berenice?” 
said the gentleman, devoutly wishing he stood in 
that relation to the blue-eyed beauty. “ Speaking 
of husbands, Paul Volney has attained that dignity; 
here is the wedding notice : 

“ ‘ On Tuesday, April 3d, at the house of the bride’s 
father. Lieutenant Paul Volney, United States Army, 
to Senora Gregoria Moreno.’ ” 

A Mexican lady !” cried Kate, “ and of course a 
Catholic. I shall be delighted to welcome Mrs. Vol- 
ney to her new home. There is no way of sending 
an invitation now, but of course they will come di- 
rectly to our house.” 

Hawthorn made no reply ; and as she looked up 
in some surprise, after securing her hair as well as 
she could with only hairpins at hand, she noticed his 
eyes fixed on the book she had been reading. 

” I trust this style of literature is not to your taste. 
Miss Comerford,” he at length said. ” I would not 
permit a — a sister of mine to touch one of Eugene 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


232 

Sue’s pernicious works. Snow and pitch should not 
come in contact. Let me destroy this mess of 
poison and he put the book in his coat-pocket. 

No displeasure at his peremptory proceeding, but 
rather a feeling of pride and joy at this evidence of 
the interest with which she had inspired him, at first 
flashed across her mind. But when she remembered 
his coldness after the discovery of her engagement to 
Volney, and also that nothing had occurred to give 
him the right to interfere with her choice of books, 
the hot blood mounted to her forehead, and she held 
out her hand for the volume. 

“ It must be a weak head and tottering principles 
that can be upset by the reading of a novel,” she 
said. “ I do not draw my theology or philosophy 
from such sources. Indeed, I usually forget the 
whole story in a week after reading it.” 

“ Impossible ; we cannot touch pitch and be unde- 
filed. We pray not to be led into temptation; then 
let us not foolishly enter into it.” 

“ I deny your right to judge for me. I fancy our 
views would often conflict.” She spoke petulantly, 
thinking of what his opinion would be of her part in 
O’Brien’s release. “ Beware lest your immaculate 
robes suffer from contact with my pitch-besmeared 
hands — as you politely term them.” And she looked 
down on her little pink palms as if expecting to see 
traces of the dark stains. 

A real shame was at the bottom of this bitterness, 
for Kate never read one of Sue’s novels without 
compunction. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


233 


“ Give me the right to judge for you, and to walk 
through life with this little hand clasped in mine. 
You need a ” 

“ Master to keep me in the right path., you would 
say,” she cried, indignantly, snatching away her 
hand, which he had dared to touch. “Thanks, I 
prefer ” 

“ A slave, perhaps,” interrupted he, “ or one who 
can see no fault in you, and has no courage to cross 
one of your whims. Alas! women are not angels; 
nor would they be fit wives for sinful men were they 
faultless.” 

“Truly, your occupation would be quite gone 
could you have no one with whom to find fault. For 
me, I care not for the love that is too clear-sighted. 
I do not hope to be mistaken for an angel, but in the 
sight of my lover my very faults must appear as vir- 
tues.” This nonsense ran from her tongue in spite 
of her judgment and heart. She would have despised 
the lover she painted, but the imp of the Perverse (as 
Edgar A. Poe would say) spoke for her. 

“Shall I send McBriar? he will doubtless do his 
best to” (“ fool you to the top of your bent,” he had 
almost said, but substituted) — “ to gratify you.” 

“ Cannot Mr. Hawthorn conceive it possible that 
my heart may be quite free, and yet not be taken cap- 
tive by his handsome person and admirable qualities 
of mind?” And then she added, slyly smiling, “and 
especially by his unique style of wooing.” 

“ Farewell I I will not again annoy Miss Comerford 
by wooing in any style whatever.” This with a low 
20* 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


234 

bow and a movement towards the door, but without 
offering to give up the book, — that bone of con- 
tention. 

“ Perhaps you will leave my book, as you no longer 
take any interest in my morals,” said the young lady, 
determined to have the last word. 

“I will not!” said the gentleman, walking off. 
“ No interest in her!” he said to himself. “ In what 
else do I take interest? Her very perversity, which 
should warn me of the danger of trusting my happi- 
ness in her keeping, but acts as another charm. 
Every strand of that flaxen hair is entwined about 
my heart.” 

“ Happy the wooing that’s not long a-doing,” said 
Kate, when left alone, “ for long courtships are prone 
to end in confusion,” and then she shed a few tears. 
Her next movement was to draw from under the 
cushion of the lounge the second volume of the 
book ; then she lighted a candle, and, sitting near the 
hearth, deliberately tore out and burned, leaf by leaf, 
every scrap of that delectable work. 

“ Mr. Eugene Sue, if I had you here I should take 
pleasure in cremating you as a peace-offering. How 
dare you make mischief between people !” and Kate 
sighed. 

A knock at the door, and the rugged features and 
sturdy figure of the surgeon came in view. 

“ Miss Comerford is apparently trying to kindle a 
bonfire. Or is it love-letters she has been consuming? 
Whew ! how inodorous they smell ! Now, had I writ- 
ten you any, they would have burned like a pine-knot. 


SKETCHES OF GAFF ISON LIFE. 


235 

sending forth a spicy fragrance, not smouldering in 
this fashion.” 

“ The fragrance of opium and assafoetida,” said Miss 
Comerford, in no good humor. 

That reminds me,” continued the irrepressible 
man, ” I once indulged in a poem, a love-sonnet, in 
which I had occasion to use the word assiduity. It 
came out in print assafcetida. That stumble lamed 
my Pegasus for life. I have done all my love-making 
in prose since then. 

“ Hawthorn stumbled against me just now, as I 
turned the corner by the new ruins; and when I asked 
if he were as blind as Cupid, he told me, by way of 
apology, to go to Hades. I told him I would go in 
the opposite direction, or he would certainly run 
against me again.” 

“ Dr. McBriar,” said Miss Kate, solemnly, ” 1 hate 
stale jokes. If I could not be witty and original at 
the same time, I should be content with my native 
dulness.” 

“ Perhaps I had better withdraw and call again 
when the storm is over and ‘ stars are in the quiet 
sky,’ ” said the doctor, humbly. “ I seem to have 
escaped Scylla to fall upon Charybdis. Excuse me. 
I would have originated that saying if some one had 
not anticipated me. Between you and Hawthorn I 
seem to be caught in a thunder-storm. By the way, 
that is a funny story Heron tells about a password. 
— thunder-and-lightning being used accidentally when 
electricity was the word.” 

Kate caught her breath for a moment, but soon "^elt 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


236 

satisfied that her cousin had, in telling the anecdote, 
located the scene elsewhere than in Texas. 

“Give me some music before I go, Miss Kate; 
you know ‘ music has charms to soothe the savage 
breast,’ — meaning you, not me. My temper is as 
placid as a lake.” 

Kate seized her guitar impatiently, for she wished 
to be alone, and sang : 

‘ Fall not in love, dear girls, beware, 

Oh, never fall in love. 

Better lead apes — you know where — 

Than ever fall in love. 
******* 

“ ‘ And if you say them no, 

They’ll swear their hearts are broke, 

And when half-dead with woe, 

How fat and plump they look !’ ” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

On the arrival of Lieutenant Volney and bride 
they received a kind welcome at the hospitable can- 
vas residence of the commanding officer of the post. 
The ladies pronounced Mrs. Volney quite a beauty, 
though somewhat of the wax-doll order. She was a 
petite brunette, with large, soft brown eyes and the 
minute hands and feet usual among the Spanish ladies, 
and, in speaking English, she had the sweetest touch 
of an accent. 

The pair were as happy as children, but Paul de- 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


237 

lighted in teasing his wife until her quick temper 
caught fire and made her forget her English, for in 
excitement she always broke into melodious Spanish. 

“ Paul has evidently confided to her that I was his 
first love,” remarked Miss Comerford to Mrs. Ashbur; 
“ for what purpose I cannot say. She was at first 
very shy of me, and watched every word that passed 
between her husband and myself, but is quite at ease 
now. She often tells me how Mr. Bolney, as she calls 
him, admires dark eyes and jetty locks, and naively 
asks if I do not think flaxen hair rather like a nino. 
Yesterday she informed me that her husband said 
first love was never more than skin-deep. ‘ Practice 
makes perfect, you know ; still, I hope my Paul has 
not had much practice. Now don’t you really believe 
he loves me, oh, ever so much better than he once 
loved you ? And did I not steal his heart from you 
when he still thought you cared for him ?’ 

‘“Most certainly,’ I admitted, ‘and I am quite 
sure, had he known you first, he never would have 
thought of me.’ 

“ ‘ Then all is well !’ she cried, ‘ and I can love you 
dearly. But, oh, how I should have hated you, had 
I found you still cared for my husband ! How un- 
pleasant it is to have to dislike people ! and Father 
Dias, who came up from San Antonio with us, says 
it is also very wicked.’ ” 

Every Catholic at the post assisted in the Easter 
preparations. The priest was engaged in preparing 
the children, hearing confessions, urging on the sloth- 
ful, etc. 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


238 

On Easter morning the little prairie chapel was 
one blaze of light, flowers, and fragrance, and every- 
one went to mass. Long benches were placed before 
the door for the soldiers who could not crowd in. 
How lovely the children looked in their white robes 
and flowing veils ! Bearded men, who had not for 
years received their Lord in the Holy Sacrament, 
now knelt at the altar. 

Mrs. Ashbur whispered to her husband as she 
pressed his hand, “ How blessed it would be if they 
could kneel together, as Mrs. Silvers and her hus- 
band are now doing !” 

Hawthorn’s mother had been a Catholic, though, 
dying when he was an infant, her child had been edu- 
cated a Protestant. But for some time he had been 
fully convinced, yet feared to trust himself, lest his 
judgment might have been unduly influenced by his 
love for Kate Comerford, or that his friends would 
believe him moved only by a hope of winning her. 
He hesitated no longer, but, having prepared himself 
the previous day, went forward and received baptism 
on this lovely Easter morning. 

The glad strains of the Regma Coeli were echoing 
in their ears as the first Christian congregation of 
Fort Fairfax went slowly down the hill to their 
homes, the children rolling bright, vari-colored 
Easter-eggs as they went along, having smuggled 
them into the chapel in their pockets. 

Kate gave her hand to Hawthorn as they stepped 
through the chapel door, while tears of joy stood in 
her beautiful eyes. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


239 

And Mrs. Volney was heard to exclaim, “Oh, how 
funny to see Mr. Hawthorn baptized just like a little 
7tino r so unusual is it among the Mexicans to wit- 
ness the baptism of an adult. 

The day after Easter, Volney and Hawthorn were 
oberved walking together, engaged in serious conver- 
sation. The topic which so interested them was not 
the relative strength of a first and second love, so 
lately discussed between Mrs. Volney and Miss 
Comerford. 

“ What books have you been reading. Hawthorn, 
and what arguments had most weight with you in 
getting rid of prejudices and convincing your judg- 
ment ? I know you are not the man to take the step 
you did yesterday without due thought. I should, 
of course, like to gratify my wife by being of one 
faith with her. But some of your Catholic beliefs are 
hard to swallow, — in fact, they stick in my throat, — in- 
dulgences, the impossibility of the pope’s committing 
sin, the harm of eating meat on Fridays, and so on. 
Now, as to confession, while I see no /eason why the 
priests should not have the same power given them 
to forgive sins that the apostles undoubtedly had, I 
hold it utterly impossible that any man should remem- 
ber all the sins of his life. Why, it would require 
days to enumerate mine ; and I should certainly for- 
get, when in the act of confession, half of those I 
had called to mind an hour previous. Talk of stage- 
fright ! the hauling out all of my secret faults and 
misdoings for the inspection of a fellow-mortal would 
be the big scare of my life.” 


240 


KATE GOMERFORD: OR, 


“ The greater the ^ scare/ if the shame proceed from 
a right motive, the more effective the penance,” said 
Hawthorn. “ Impossibilities are not required of us ; 
the sins which you really are unable to recall are in- 
cluded in the absolution ; for we especially ask par- 
don for ‘ all those sins which we cannot now recall.’ 

“No one will ask you to believe in the impeccability 
of the pope, only that he is prevented, by the grace 
of God, from teaching error in matters of faith, pre- 
cisely as the apostles were.” 

“ Is that all ?” said Paul. “ I do not have to be 
taught that Catholics are not idolaters, for I never 
believed that nonsense. Nor do I see any objection 
to asking the saints to pray for us, if they can hear 
us ask. I am sure I should like any one who has 
reached heaven to put in a good word for me occa- 
sionally.” 

“ I will give you a list of the books I have read, 
though I cannot say just how much I have been in- 
fluenced by any one of them. I have used Milner’s 
‘ End of Controversy’ ; ‘ Points of Controversy,’ by 
Smarius; Newman’s works, especially his ‘Apologia 
pro Vita Sua’; Allies’ ‘See of Peter’; Hays’s ‘Sincere 
Christian’; Father Hecker’s ‘Aspirations of Nature’ 
and ‘ Questions of the Soul.’ I have also been 
much interested in a book called ‘ The Path that led 
a Protestant Lawyer into the Catholic Church.’ 
Any books that I have are at your service. Of 
course, I have not failed to study diligently the Book 
of books.” 

Volney, who was not a great reader, seemed rather 


SKETCHES OF GAFF IS OH LIFE, 


241 


overpowered at this long array of authorities to be 
consulted. Still, being very much in earnest, he de- 
termined to tackle with the ‘ End of Controversy’ at 
once, perhaps hoping thus to escape the intermediate 
steps. 

“ One thing is certain, Volney : I have not been in- 
fluenced or helped out of my difficulties by reading 
controversial novels. My luck with books of this 
sort has been rather unfortunate. Such as I have 
read have proved so intolerably dull that their tend- 
encies have been in the opposite direction. How- 
ever, I think Catholics of talent should be encouraged 
to write works of fiction, so that the taste for this 
kind of reading among Catholics may not be fed 
altogether by works adverse to the Church, such as 
Disraeli’s ‘ Lothair,’ the * Schonburg-Cotta Family,’ 
and others.” 

When the time came for Father Dias to leave Fort 
Fairfax, there was as much grief expressed as if he 
had been their pastor for years. This little flock in 
the wilderness without a shepherd had also become 
very dear to the old man, and he promised to visit 
them again as early as possible. The band turned 
out in his honor, and he was escorted a mile on his 
homeward way by the sorrowing soldiers. 

Lieutenant Brown and his pretty wife left at the 
same time, taking with them Nora Ryan, to the 
great disgust of the Duval children, who considered 
themselves badly treated, and to the sorrow of their 
mamma, who could not hope to find* so faithful a 
nurse. 


L q 


21 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


242 

According to Nora’s prudent counsel, the soldier, 
Hays, had his sharp optics blinded by Nora’s dis- 
missal from Mrs. Duval’s service for some alleged 
offence, that she might not be suspected of leaving 
of her own accord. 

But privately Mrs. Duval parted with her warm- 
hearted nurse in the most friendly manner, and not 
without bestowing a handsome sum towards starting 
the faithful couple in housekeeping. 


CHAPTER XV. 

WiNNY and Clay were searching for worms (snakes 
the little girl called them) in the lignmn-vitce grove 
near their home, to be used as fishing-bait. Their 
hearts were set on going a-fishing in the brook ; and 
that Mrs. Ashbur might feel at ease about little 
Winny, Cousin Kate had been coaxed into joining 
the excursion. Having been duly informed by his 
friend, Gustavus Duval, of the contemplated fishing- 
party, Mr. Hawthorn offered his services as escort. 

“ Perhaps, as it is but a short walk, and in full view 
of the soldiers at work in their garden, my father 
may trust us to your protection, though he vowed 
he never would again,” said Kate. 

I think he will, even though I shall not have the 
benefit of O’Brien’s superior wisdom,” said the gen- 
tleman. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE, 


243 

A blush mantled Miss Comerford’s cheek at the 
very mention of the name of O’Brien, but was ac- 
credited by her companion to the reminiscences of 
that day on the prairie when he saved her life and 
lost his own heart. The wound left by the arrow in 
his arm had healed, but the wound in the heart yet 
awaited the healing touch of the hand which he still 
hoped to call his own. 

The two elders of the fishing-party now entered 
the grove to remind the children it was time to set 
out. 

Winny, whose search for snakes had not been suc- 
cessful, was appealing to the divining-powers of a 
large granddaddy-long-legs. “ Gandaddy-long-legs, 
’here’s the worms V' said the little girl, earnestly. 

Now, Winny dear, haven’t I told you they can’t 
tell where anything is ’cept the cows ? It is not their 
business to hunt for worms,” remonstrated Clay Ash- 
bur, putting another worm into his tin cup. 

“ But this one knows,” cried Winny. See, he 
pints up, so I s’pose the worms have gone to roost 
in the trees.” 

“ Winny, you must not say pint^ like a little nigger. 
Mother says point. Besides, worms never climb 
trees; they always sleep under the ground, and just 
wait there until we die to eat us up. Alcy Duval 
says the more worms we kill the fewer there will be 
left to gnaw us when we are dead, and if a boy can 
manage to kill all the worms that are waiting for 
him he won’t be eaten at all.” 

“Well, Clay, have you collected bait enough?” 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


244 

inquired Mr. Hawthorn, breaking in on this learned 
exposition of what follows death. 

“ Here is nearly a pint of them,” said Clay, show- 
ing his cup. 

'‘Oh, Cay,” cried Winny, “ ’hy don’t you say 
point?” 

The corrector corrected looked half inclined to 
admit his mistake, or puzzled to explain the differ- 
ence, when Mr. Hawthorn came to his assistance: 

“ No matter. Clay ; it will all come right to you and 
Winny in course of time. Much older heads than 
yours are puzzled over the intricacies and inconsist- 
encies of the English language. Can you tell me. 
Miss Kate, why these long-limbed insects are sup- 
posed to know, any more than ants or crickets, the 
whereabouts of the ‘ milky mothers of the herd,’ as 
Sir Piercie Shafton would say?” 

“ For the same reason that the lady-bug is the only 
bug whose house is always on fire, and the ground- 
hog the only animal which can foretell the coming 
of spring by consulting his own shadow,” answered 
Miss Comerford. 

“ Miss Kate,” cried Alcy Duval, hurrying up with 
his brother, “ I have brought you a beautiful pet.” 

“ Please, Alcy,” exclaimed Kate, jumping behind 
Mr. Hawthorn, “ do not let that rat go ! I am terribly 
afraid of rats !” 

Rat r and the amount of indignation conveyed 
in that monosyllable was immense. “ This is a beau- 
tiful prairie-dog. Did you ever see a sorrel rat?” 
demanded the mortified Alcibiades. 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


245 

“ Excuse me,” said Kate, coming nearer; I am so 
much obliged. I have long wanted to see a prairie- 
dog. But why are they called dogs ? there is no 
likeness.” 

“ Wait until you hear him bark,” said Gussy. 
” Shall we take him to your house and fasten him 
up for you till you come home ? We can catch up 
with you.” 

If you please, and do not let him devour my 
little dog before he finds out that they are of one 
family,” said Kate. 

As they passed the garrison garden a little child 
of about Winny’s age, who was playing around her 
father at his work, ran up and offered the boys a 
handful of worms for their sport. Just at this mo- 
ment the old Indian, who still lived with the soldiers, 
entered the garden. The child turned deadly pale^ 
screamed, and threw herself into Mr. Hawthorn’s 
arms. He ordered the Indian to get out of sight, 
and, lifting the child, carried her to her father. 

No wonder,” said he, as they walked on, “ she is 
thrown into spasms at the sight of an Indian. This 
is the child whose mother was killed by the savages, 
and she herself escaped a like fate, almost by miracle, 
when but two years of age. The father and mother, 
with this child in their arms, had wandered a few 
rods from the camping-ground to a spring, when the 
Apaches sprang out from their ambush behind the 
rocks, and seized the woman and child, firing at, but 
missing, the man. He gave the alarm, and the cap- 
tors were so closely pursued they dropped the baby, 
21* 


KATE COMERFORD; OR, 


246 

knowing the soldiers would stop to pick it up. But, 
finding at length they could not escape with the 
woman, they killed her. We pass her lonely grave on 
the road to El Paso, near Eagle Spring. That child 
should be taken where she could never see or hear 
of an Indian. Near that same place a sutler’s train, 
imprudently travelling with too small an escort, was 
attacked by night, the horses all taken, and most 
of their stores. Fortunately a pair of oxen was left 
them, and thus they crept slowly on, but before 
their journey’s end were reduced to living on canned 
fruit. The sutler’s wife told me that, for years after, 
the very sight of canned peaches made her shudder. 
The weather was cold, and, progressing so slowly, 
they often had to camp where no firewood could be 
obtained. So the furniture had to be sacrificed. 
Chairs, bedstead, tables, and chests were reduced to 
ashes. At last, the very cradle of the baby, which 
they had hoped to save, was used for firewood to 
cook a breakfast of blackbirds they had been so for- 
tunate as to secure.” 

“ ’Hy couldn’t dey eat bread and butter, and save 
de baby’s cradle ?” was Winny’s comment. 

Following the bank of the stream, the fishing- 
party soon came to a little fall. Below this the 
water grew deeper and was shaded by a fringe of 
willow-trees. After the usual amount of trouble about 
baiting the hooks and untangling the lines which were 
carelessly thrown over the willow-branches, all set- 
tled down to the business of the hour, speaking only 
in whispers, for fear of scaring the fish. 


SKETCHES OF GAFF /SON LIFE. 


247 

Half an hour went by in this way. Miss Comer- 
ford’s eyes were on the water, watching the fish as 
they coquetted with the bait. Mr. Hawthorn’s eyes 
wandered often to the face of the bewitching maiden 
by his side. 

Left to themselves, Clay and Winny had taken off 
their shoes and stockings and waded out into the cool 
water. They were standing on a large stone, which 
projected some distance into the brook, and reaching 
over to gather the green, cress-like plants that grew 
at the bottom of the stream. But the clearness of 
the water below their standing-place deceived them 
as to its depth. As the pretty waving green leaves 
eluded her grasp, little Winny, leaning forward, made 
one unlucky snatch, and, missing her aim, the little 
bare feet slipped, and, headforemost, she tumbled into 
the water. 

Clay Ashbur gave one cry of horror and jumped 
in after her. Although he could swim when un- 
incumbered, still he could not possibly have saved 
her. 

Gustavus Duval had also exchanged the tedium 
of angling for the more congenial fun of riding on 
the swinging branch of the willow, which, in its 
downward sway, brought his feet into the water. 
He could swim like a duck, and was throwing off 
his jacket for a drop into the water, but, perceiving 
that Mr. Hawthorn had come to the rescue, he pru- 
dently waited, reserving himself as a forlorn hope. 

Hawthorn seized the little girl, and was in the act 
of climbing the bank with her in his arms, near the 


A’ATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


248 

foot of the willow-tree, when Gustavus, taken up with 
his anxiety for Winny, let go his hold, lost his bal- 
ance, and tumbled into the brook. His fall would 
have been of no consequence had not the limb, re- 
lieved of his weight, in the rebound struck Hawthorn 
on the chest with such force as to throw him and his 
precious burden back into the water. 

Kate had only time for one despairing cry, when 
she saw Alcy Duval spring in to the assistance of 
his brother, who was manfully supporting Winny ; 
and in a few moments the two boys had landed the 
child safe in her outstretched arms. 

But all was not yet well. The boys were horrified 
by a shout from Clay, — “ Mr. Hawthorn is drowned! 
Help! help!” 

He had gone down like lead, being stunned by the 
blow, and there he lay, face upward, in the clear 
water. The boys threw themselves again into the 
stream, and with many a hard pull and lift the three 
finally scrambled out with their heavy burden. 

Winny had scarce lost consciousness, and was now 
looking about in seeming wonder to find herself so 
wet under the shawl Kate had wrapped about her. 
So that, quite relieved of anxiety on the child’s ac- 
count, Miss Comerford had dropped on her knees 
and was praying for the life of one only too dear to 
her. 

She knelt now beside his prostrate form in mute 
anguish. The waving brown locks clung to the pale 
forehead, the deep-blue eyes were only half closed. 
She lifted the head to rest it against her beating 


SKETCHES OF GARRISOH LIFE. 


249 

heart, but, remembering that the drowning should not 
be thus treated, she replaced the helpless head on the 
bank and turned him gently on one side, chafing the 
cold hands in hers. 

“ Go, boys !” she now cried ; “ run for help. Why 
do you stand idle ? Bring the doctor. I will watch 
him.” 

The horrified lads threw off the stupor which be- 
numbed their faculties. “ Stay you here, Clay, and 
help Miss Kate ; rub his feet hard. Gus and I will 
bring help,” cried Alcy. 

No sign of life appeared. The tears streamed 
from little Winny’s eyes as she shivered and looked 
on bewildered. 

“ All is useless ; he is gone, gone !” cried Kate 
Comerford. “ Oh, my love, my love !” and she raised 
the cold hand to her lips and covered it with tears 
and despairing kisses. Was it that sad, heart-broken 
wail or was it those warm kisses that recalled the 
spirit and sent back the warm blood to the heart ? 

This was no case of drowning ; the shock of the 
blow had suspended consciousness for a time : that 
was all. 

The hand closed on hers. The two pairs of blue 
eyes, so unlike, and yet both speaking one language, 
now gazed into each other. 

“ Blessed water !” murmured the happy man ; “ in 
your depths I have found a pearl.” And the drip- 
ping arms were thrown around the maiden, and one 
betrothal kiss was pressed on her brow before she 
could resist. 


250 


KATE COMERFORD ; OR, 


I sinks he is alive, Cousin Kate,” said little 
Winny. Kate rather thought so too. 

“ How dare you ?” she cried, springing to her feet. 
” How long have you been conscious ?” She was 
actually hoping that the kisses she had bestowed on 
his hand had preceded the return to entire conscious- 
ness. 

“ Only long enough to hear and feel what has 
made me the happiest man on earth, and what, I 
verily believe, nothing but my seeming death could 
have drawn from you, you cruel girl !” 

“ Mr. Hawthorn, it is time we were going home. 
See what a figure you have made of me ! One would 
think I had been in the water too. Here is poor 
little Winny shivering with cold, and we doing 
nothing for her.” 

The gentleman arose and tried to get rid of some 
of the superfluous water which' streamed from his 
garments by shaking himself 

“ Throw this coat around your shoulders,” he said, 
taking up his coat from the ground and putting it 
around her. Clay had already wrapped Winny in 
his own jacket, in addition to the shawl. 

Here they are !” shouted Alcy Duval. And he 
has come to life. Hurrah !” 

“ Hurrah !” echoed the three soldiers who had 
come with the doctor. 

Bless my soul ! so he has,” cried Dr. McBriar, 
shaking hands with Hawthorn. “ And here is Waters 
with the ambulance. So jump in, ye drowned rats.” 
Kate and Winny were helped in, Hawthorn fol- 


SKETCHES OF GARRISON LIFE. 


251 

lowed, and the three boys crowded in on the back 
seat. 

“ Whip up ! drive fast, Jack,” said the doctor, 
springing to the seat by Waters’s side and taking 
Winny on his lap. ” We shall listen to the story of 
the ducking after we get these mermaids and mermen 
into dry garments. Did you go in also. Miss Kate ? 
The boys failed to report that.” 

“ No,” answered little Winny, “ but Mr. Hawforn, 
he was so happy when he corned to life, he thes put 
his wet arms around Cousin Kate and tissed her.” 

This uncalled-for piece of information was received 
in dead silence. The doctor, in his agitation, came 
near letting Winny fall from his knee. 

Miss Comerford blushed like twenty roses, and 
cast an angry glance at the moist gentleman by her 
side. Lieutenant Hawthorn did his best to look pen- 
itent, but could not for his life get up any contrition 
for his conduct. Both were thankful that Winny had 
said nothing of the caresses bestowed by the lady on 
the hand of the drowned man. 

Jack Waters choked as badly with laughter as he 
had done when playing bridesmaid to Tom, and 
whipped the unoffending mules into a gallop. 

Tom Heron, who received his cousin as she ar- 
rived at her own door, after dropping Winny and the 
doctor at Mrs. Ashbur’s, listened to a few words from 
Waters, and then, gravely kissing Kate on the fore- 
head, said, I give you my permission and blessing, 
and promise not again to usurp your place as bride. 
I see you have Hawthorn’s coat ; I shall warn him 


252 


KATE COMERFORD. 


not to let you meddle with any other portion of his 
wardrobe !” 

As this is not a novel, — only sketches, — it will not 
be expected of us to dispose of all the characters* 
either by marriage or death ; therefore we leave them 
to their own devices, and bid the kind reader adieu. 


THE END. 


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